


Desperation Club

by cfcureton



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), olicity - Fandom
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Arrow, Alternative Universe - No Island, F/F, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-21 12:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15558045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cfcureton/pseuds/cfcureton
Summary: What if Happily Ever After isn’t as happy as you’d hoped?A forty-something Olicity fic.





	1. Chapter 1

5:42. Frack.

Felicity Palmer took her life into her hands and skipped out into the street, banking on her pencil skirt and high heels to buy her some grace with the male drivers, at least. There were a few honks and one rather rude proposition, but otherwise she reached the far side of the street unharmed. 

She fiddled with the skirt that had recently shrunk—or something—tugging and smoothing it down before pushing through the door to Razzy’s, their downtown hangout spot for the last twenty years. 

It was a standing date, the fourth Friday of every month, and there they were: Her college roommates Sara and Caitlin, and Sara’s sister Laurel. They were seated at a high top table with drinks already in front of them; a glass of red was waiting in front of her empty seat.

“Thanks guys,” she gushed, hauling herself up onto the tall stool and shedding her purse. “Sorry I’m late.”

Sara held up her glass and they all mimicked her, clinking their glasses merrily. Felicity reveled in a long sip of her wine while her three friends continued the conversation already in play, namely Caitlin and Laurel’s kids and the sky-high cost of their looming college years. Sara sat, chin in hand, and tried to look interested, but she couldn’t really relate.

Unfortunately, neither could Felicity. 

Eventually they gave up the topic and moved on to their respective spouses; here at least Felicity and Sara could contribute. Laurel was permanently exhausted, she said. Between the twins learning to drive, the house, and her full-time job as an attorney, there was nothing left of her at the end of the day.

“Look at me,” she moaned. “I’m going to hell.” Her size 4 pants suit and fresh blow-out said differently, but everyone—with the exception of Sara, who rolled her eyes—made sympathetic noises at her. 

“Tommy’s so grabby still—ugh. Give it a rest already. My child-bearing duties are done. Be gone.” She flicked a hand as if waving away a fly and Caitlin giggled. 

“God, I wish I had your problem,” she groaned. The way she was already slumped forward at the table made Felicity think Caitlin might be well into drink number two. “Ronnie doesn’t even look at me anymore. I have to BEG for it.” Her eyes bugged out on the word “beg” and Sara snorted. 

“Well you’re welcome to mine,” Laurel practically shouted. They were all definitely on the second round. “You’d be doing me a favor. I mean it.”

Felicity concentrated on tugging her skirt down over her knees; this conversation had steered into uncomfortable waters. Sara must have noticed, because she perked up across the table and called Felicity’s name.

“How ‘bout you, Blondie? Still seeing plenty of action at home?” It wasn’t said unkindly, but Sara’s way had always been to rip off the bandaid and poke at whatever hurt. It was just her nature. 

Felicity blushed, and then blushed more when she realized they’d caught her blushing. They’d all known each other twenty-five years; there weren’t any secrets in this group, really. Except for maybe one. And she just wasn’t ready to tell them that she and Ray had been going to marriage counseling for the past six months. 

She had just celebrated turning forty the year before, the baby of the group. A genius with a dual major who couldn’t even legally drink until the summer after they’d graduated from college. The whiz kid. The cute nerd who had turned handsome Ray Palmer’s head in 400 level Physics and left him a sappy, lovesick mess. Handsome, goofy, likable Ray Palmer, who nowadays slept in the guest room and treated her like an affable roommate, or the beloved family pet. 

They put off starting a family because Felicity was so young, and then because of grad school, and then because of their crazy, fulfilling careers. She thought she had time; she threw baby showers for Caitlin and Laurel and told herself she was still too young, not ready, especially for something like—good god—twins. (Truthfully, no one was ready for twins spawned by Tommy and Laurel, part of her brain snarked.)

Even when the rest of the gang turned forty—a whirlwind couple of years full of parties they couldn’t recall, exactly—she reminded herself that she was still the baby of the group, still the whiz kid.

But a whiz kid with none of her own. 

Before she could come up with a good answer—or any answer—Laurel interrupted with a funny story, completely changing the subject and letting Felicity off the hook. Not long after that Caitlin got a text from Ronnie asking if it was her night to get the girls to dance practice, which set both moms off on a husband rant again. Sara rolled her eyes affectionately and drained her glass. 

“What?” Laurel huffed, having caught her sister’s look. Sara shrugged nonchalantly.

“Nothing.” She grinned though, savoring the punchline. “Clearly you didn’t get as lucky as me.” Sara slid off her chair and dug a twenty out of her front pocket which she tossed on the table. 

“You’re saying we should’ve become lesbians,” Caitlin clarified, only slightly slurred. Sara winked and pointed a finger gun at her. “See ya next week, ladies. I gotta get home and sex up my wife.”

They all laughed to some degree as she edged around the table in the crowded bar; Sara’s fingers walked across Felicity’s shoulders as she scooted past.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” she murmured over the crowd noise. And then she was gone.

“Next week?” Laurel wondered out loud, her nose wrinkled up in confusion.

“Fifth Friday,” Felicity clarified helpfully. Every fifth Friday they all got together, ladies and gents alike, and made a night of it. Otherwise the boys met by themselves on the first Friday of each month. It was a pretty good system and a long-standing tradition, even if Laurel could never remember. 

The rest of the party broke up soon after; Caitlin and Laurel strolled out arm in arm and heads together, on their third favorite topic of conversation: The bitch of white sports uniforms. Felicity followed them out and watched them, these combat veterans of motherhood, commiserating over problems she herself would give anything to have.

—————————————————————

“Hey Smoaky! Get your ass over here.”

Tommy Merlyn flatly refused to acknowledge the fact that she’d changed her name to Palmer eighteen years ago. Felicity rolled her eyes as she approached the table the guys had secured in the Fishbowl, so named because it sat against the front window of Razzy’s and allowed for unparalleled people watching of the outside world. And vice versa. 

Oliver Queen—devastatingly handsome, reserved Oliver Queen—slid off the tall stool he’d been occupying in one smooth motion and pulled it out for her as she reached them. 

“Ever the gentleman,” she murmured sweetly, and grinned when his eyes danced.

“Ray coming?” Tommy asked just before tipping up his beer bottle. Felicity shook her head.

“San Diego, giving a lecture,” she hollered over the noise of the bar. Her voice never seemed to carry well in loud places; she always found herself saying the same thing over again.

“Shit, that must be the life,” Tommy muttered to nobody.

Felicity turned her head to the bar tv and pretended to be absorbed by a diabetes drug commercial; just that morning Ray had suggested that maybe she wouldn’t have to work anymore now that he was a fixture on the rather lucrative lecture circuit.

“But what else would you do if you didn’t work?” Ray had added, that goofy boyish smile on his face. He wasn’t being mean—Ray Palmer didn’t have a mean bone in his body—he was just being his usual, clueless self. But it still hurt.

Felicity watched Tommy’s eyes light up and turned her head in time to catch sight of Sara walking toward them. She stopped to lean at the table next to Oliver, bumping him affectionately with her shoulder.

“Beer?” he asked, already straightening up from the table because the answer was going to be yes. He leaned into Felicity’s space with a slight lift of his eyebrows and she gave him a nod; he knew what she liked in red wine, too. 

Felicity made herself focus on the table conversation and not the retreating form of Oliver Queen heading off to get her first drink of the night. Tommy and Ronnie were talking sports—pro basketball she thought, maybe. Some of the names sounded familiar, although how Isaiah Thomas could still be playing at his age she had no idea; he’d been a basketball player when she was a kid. Sheesh. 

Caitlin was suddenly in the spot Oliver had vacated, dumping her giant mom purse on the table with a thud.

“Your SON,” she began without preamble to her husband across the table, “is going to be the death of me.” Caitlin tipped her head, aiming her next comment at Felicity for some unfathomable reason.

“Kicked off the bus AGAIN. I’ll have to take him to school for the rest of the year.”

Ronnie shook his head into his beer and Tommy grinned.

“Kid’s scrappy,” Ronnie acknowledged, as if that was a compliment. Caitlin huffed in exasperation but made no further comment about their errant child.

“I need a drink.” 

Felicity hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the bar. “Go catch Oliver.”

“Ooh!” Caitlin’s face lit up; Ollie was always good for the first round. She turned around almost straight into Laurel, who had also just arrived. There was a tiny oof and some giggling as they tangled.

“Hurry! Ollie’s getting the drinks.”

The two women bustled away, already talking a hundred miles an hour. Sara and Tommy shared a wry look. 

Felicity turned to watch her friends leave and saw that Oliver was already on his way back, a beer in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. The girls accosted him; he conversed with them for a moment, then lifted both arms with a tip of his head at his pants pocket. Laurel grinned wickedly and stuck a hand in his pocket for a wad of bills while Caitlin doubled over in a fit of giggles. Oliver took the fleecing good-naturedly, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he indulged them. 

Felicity turned away, pushing down the sudden uncomfortable feeling of jealousy and trying to focus back on the sports conversation.

“Madam,” he said near her ear, placing the glass down in front of her as he handed Sara her beer.

“Thanks.” Felicity flashed him a grateful smile and took a sip. 

“The wife coming tonight?” Tommy inquired. It took Felicity a second to realize he was talking to Sara and not Oliver. No use asking if Helena would be there, of course; the answer was always no. Helena Bertinelli was too far above the Fifth Friday crowd. She always had been.

“Nyssa’s on her way,” Sara acknowledged. “You better be nice to her, Merlyn.” She added the warning as she tipped up her beer.

Tommy pretended to look offended. “Can I help it if the woman has no discernible sense of humor?” He shook his head sadly. “She just doesn’t get me.”

“Nyssa is hilarious, actually,” Sara countered. “But it’s true she doesn’t share your love of poop and fart jokes.”

Felicity caught Oliver’s eye with a grin and he smirked into his beer glass. 

The table continued to fill up; Laurel and Caitlin returned with crazy frou frou drinks that must’ve used all the cash Oliver had relinquished just as Nyssa swept in, beautiful and serious and completely focused on Sara; sparks flew whenever they were near each other, even after all these years. 

An hour at Razzy’s usually led to dinner somewhere close by, but Caitlin and Laurel’s umbrella drinks must have been spiked, because they were both quite drunk by the time they bottomed out their glasses. Tommy and Ronnie shared a glance that implied a mutual eye roll; dragging those two out to a nice restaurant at this point was just going to be embarrassing. Ronnie let out a martyred sigh and headed to the bar to order a load of appetizers. 

“Hey,” Laurel spoke up suddenly with a heavy bump into Caitlin’s shoulder. “You gonna sleep with my husband or what?”

All other conversations at the table stopped and everyone’s eyes shot to Laurel in shock. Especially Tommy’s.

“Laurel,” he muttered in a ‘don’t start’ tone of voice. But his wife was undeterred.

“No really. We had this great idea last week, didn’t we?” Laurel looked at the other ladies for confirmation, then focused back on her husband. “It turns out Caitlin isn’t getting laid anymore either.” Her critical lawyer gaze fell on Felicity and her brow crinkled. “Felicity probably isn’t getting enough herself, come to think of it. You know how absent-minded Ray is.”

Felicity’s eyes dropped to her lap in mortification. If Laurel was too drunk, she was definitely not drunk ENOUGH for this conversation.

“Knock it off, Laurel,” Oliver growled.

“I’m serious,” she pushed on. “I wouldn’t mind. They’d be doing me a favor.”

Tommy threw up his hands, clearly not sure whether to laugh all this off or be pissed. Laurel reached out across the table to try to take his hand.

“Honey, you know I love you, I just don’t want sex three times a week anymore. And we’re all friends here, right? We’ve known each other forever. There’s no romantic feelings, nobody to get hurt.” Laurel paused to go around the table and look everyone in the eye in turn. “Just think about it.”

The table was still silent when Ronnie returned, clearly confused about the sudden change in the atmosphere.

“Okay, what did I miss?”

——————————————————————

The apps arrived and the subject changed, for a while. Felicity dipped a triangle of pita bread into the spinach and artichoke dip and tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone else at the table. Tommy had apparently decided the only way to beat ‘em was to join ‘em; he was starting his third beer and getting louder. 

Extra chairs had been commandeered throughout the evening, but Oliver still chose to stand, leaning on his forearms with his fingers rotating his glass absently, intent on a conversation with Sara and Nyssa. Felicity looked around until she spotted his suit coat hanging from a nearby hook, his tie folded and tucked neatly into the breast pocket. She almost snorted, imagining Ray under the same circumstances; his would probably be somewhere under the table, wrinkled and forgotten.

There was a nudge at her shoulder as a pile of cocktail napkins plopped onto the table next to her arm. 

“Hey, need your help,” Laurel ordered. “We’ve been thinking up rules for, you know, the sex thing, but you know my handwriting’s terrible, and Caitlin can’t feel her fingers anymore.” Caitlin wiggled her digits at Felicity and giggled. Laurel pushed the napkins toward her with a motion of her hand that brooked no refusal. Felicity sighed. 

“Number one,” she began in her lawyer voice without waiting for Felicity’s answer, “none of this happens without the sober consent of all concerned parties.” She held up a finger. “In writing.”

Felicity scrambled for her purse and a pen. “What, NOW? Geez Louise, Laurel.” Apparently the napkins were meant to be writing paper. Felicity clicked her pen in frustration and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. They glanced off Oliver on their way back down; he had turned his head away from his conversation and was watching her with a strange, unreadable expression on his face. 

She blushed for no good reason at all and got to work writing. 

A half an hour later they were still at it, Laurel and Caitlin. Felicity doodled on a napkin as she waited for them to decide whether these encounters should ALWAYS happen at home or NEVER happen at home. She’d written both words down out of boredom and was drawing little hearts around each, just waiting to see which they’d pick. 

Their debate raged on as Caitlin dragged her equally drunk friend to the bathroom. Felicity breathed a sigh of relief. 

“What the hell was in their drinks? Absinthe?”

Oliver was at her elbow, surprising a little “Oh!” out of her. She smiled despite the fright.

“I’d say it’s a phase, but they’re forty-three years old, so...” She trailed off with a smile and Oliver chuckled. The earlier frenetic energy of the off-work crowd had mellowed; “Rain King” was playing in the bar, part of a set of 90s music meant to appease the Gen X crowd. Under the table Felicity’s knees bobbed to the beat.

Oliver’s head tipped toward her stack of scribbled-on napkins. “Desperation Club,” he snorted, reading the doodle at the top of the first napkin. “That’s accurate.”

Felicity bit her lip and giggled. “I made that up. It’ll make Laurel mad when she sees it sober.”

“You’re not buying into this weirdness, are you? I mean, you and Ray are solid, right?”

For one crazy second Felicity didn’t have an answer. God, she missed sex. She missed being in college and experimenting. She missed having someone be totally obsessed with her body, or even her mouth. Holy shit she missed orgasms. 

And she really wanted a baby, dammit.

“Where’d you go?” Oliver asked softly, his head close to hers so she could hear him over the bar noise. Like he really wanted to know. Like he cared about her answer.

Felicity opened her mouth, but Tommy opened his first.

“Hey Whiz Kid, you gettin’ on the list to fuck me too?!” Her eyes flew to him, shocked to silence; he didn’t look mad, though, just three sheets to the wind.

“You’re drunk, Merlyn.” It wasn’t the growl of frustration he’d used earlier on Laurel; this was Oliver’s warning voice. Across the way Sara lowered her beer bottle to the table, suddenly watchful. Tommy flapped a hand at Felicity, ignoring Oliver.

“No, you’re right. You’re better off with Queen. He’s the one with the open marriage. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Felicity snapped at him, suddenly all done with tonight’s entertainment. They were in their forties, for gods sake. “I’m out.” She raised her hands in defeat and then flailed behind her for her purse so she could make her escape.

But it had disappeared.

“Oh frack,” she moaned, getting the Lost Item Adrenaline Rush; it wasn’t on the floor, or hanging from anyone else’s chair. 

Sara slid off her stool. “Maybe the girls grabbed it by mistake.” She strode off to the restroom to check. Tommy and Ronnie, thoroughly drunk, gazed about them as if they were looking for it underwater, while Nyssa sat there and frowned, probably wondering what the point of a purse was anyway. 

Oliver headed off to check Lost and Found at the bar, and in the meantime Sara came back with no good news. Felicity felt real panic then, because EVERYTHING had been in there, including her phone. She couldn’t even call to cancel her credit cards. 

Oliver was back at her shoulder, empty-handed; she felt tears of frustration threatening, which always made her short tempered. She hated to cry.

“Can I use your phone to call Ray?” she asked, an edge of desperation in her voice that made her sound snippy. “He’ll have to call the credit card companies.” Oliver immediately pulled his phone out and logged in, searching up Ray’s number in Contacts. 

The call went to voicemail, just to add insult to injury. She really was going to cry, right here in the middle of Razzy’s. Frack.

Suddenly Oliver had her elbow, steering her carefully through the crowd and outside into the night. It must be, what, nine o’clock by now? 

“Breathe,” he ordered softly. “It’s going to be okay.” 

The second part of his sentence tipped the balance; Felicity dropped her face into her hands and sobbed. Oliver wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side in a hug, but otherwise said nothing. No platitudes (that would be Ray), no begging her to stop because crying women made him nervous (Tommy); he just stood and held her until she’d gotten it all out. 

“I’ll take you home,” he said, when she had lifted her head up and run her fingertips under her lashes. “Come on.”


	2. Chapter 2

They were three blocks from her house when Felicity remembered that Ray had lost their hide-a-key the month before and she had forgotten to replace it. She was going to cry again.

Oliver’s eyes flicked to the rear view mirror at her confession and he steered into the left turn lane without comment.

“Chez Queen it is,” he said with a little smile of reassurance as he swung the Mercedes around and headed the other direction. The downtown penthouse, he meant, not the estate an hour outside the city, or the lake house upstate, or the ski lodge in Utah. 

Or the crumbling, narrow brownstone filled with books and half-finished projects, and a cat who treated both human occupants like interlopers. That would be Chez Palmer. 

“Helena,” she sniffed, mortified to think of the icy brunette hosting her for a sleepover; she would die of embarrassment. Or possibly just die. Helena was mean.

“Paris. Shopping.” Oliver sighed. “Our paths haven’t crossed in six weeks.”

“That’s a relief.” Felicity shook her head quickly because did she seriously just say that out loud? Frack. “I didn’t mean it was a relief that you haven’t seen her because she’s your wife, why wouldn’t you want to see her, is there ANYTHING you can do to get me to stop talking right now?”

Oliver laughed out loud, an actual laugh; Felicity bit her lip and chuckled herself. 

“It’s okay, Felicity. I’ve known you for twenty-five years. I know how you are.” He was smiling, with a gleam in his eye. It was nice. He looked nineteen again.

“You don’t do that anymore. Why don’t you do that anymore?” God, one glass of wine and her mouth was a runaway train. 

“Do what?” he asked, the smile lingering but lowering in wattage.

“Laugh.”

Oliver’s eyes flicked to her and back to the road. “Have I stopped?”

Felicity tipped her head to the side and studied him. 

“You used to laugh all the time in college. God, were you ever serious? You and Tommy.” She shook her head in wonder. 

His smile faded then; not to mad, just to nothing. The look she sometimes saw on his face when he would first walk into Razzy’s on a Friday, before he caught sight of one of the gang.

“Do you think it’s possible that one decision made in your twenties could change everything that happened to you for the rest of your life?” He was staring out the windshield, almost in a trance; Felicity sat very still and held her breath. When he didn’t say any more she bit her lip.

“Like what?” she prompted softly, afraid to break the spell but needing to know more. 

Oliver blinked then, as if he’d just realized what he was saying. Or who he was saying it to.

“Nothing. Don’t listen to me,” he chuckled self-consciously. “It’s the alcohol.”

Bullshit it’s the alcohol, Felicity thought. She’d never seen anybody with a higher tolerance than Oliver Queen. 

They rode the rest of the way in silence; into the underground parking garage, up the elevator, to the top floor and the penthouse apartment Felicity had heard about but had never seen. The elevator doors opened and she had an instant panoramic view of Starling City and the bay. Everything in the space was sleek and shiny and very expensive. It was like standing inside a 3,000 square foot Helena Bertinelli.

Oliver chuckled behind her and she knew she’d said that last part out loud. Frack. 

“Something else to drink?” he asked casually, passing behind her to go to the bar on the far side of the room. “Since neither of us are driving the rest of the night.”

“Sh-sure,” she stuttered; she didn’t normally drink more than one glass at a time, but this night had turned out to be anything but normal. 

“I’m sorry you don’t have anything of your own to change into,” he said then, his back to her as he worked at the bar. “I’m sure Helena has something you can wear.”

“Uh...” Felicity offered, unsure how else to respond to a statement like that. She was still rooted to the spot in front of the elevator when he crossed the room with her wine. 

“I can get something out of the Goodwill box, if that’ll make you feel better.” He said it with a gleam in his eye that made Felicity laugh. Oliver gave their surroundings a critical eye and tipped his head to the right.

“This is all a bit formal for my taste. Follow me.”

She kicked her heels off by the door (a Chez Palmer rule) and followed on bare feet, past the formal dining room, gourmet kitchen, and two closed doors to the end of the hall. Oliver stepped through an open doorway and switched on a light.

It was a tv room; cozy and warm, with an overstuffed sectional and a wall-to-wall entertainment center that housed books as well as electronics. It was so different from the rest of the house Felicity thought maybe they had passed through into another dimension.

“I feel like we’re suddenly on Earth 2,” she mumbled.

“Earth what?”

Felicity shook her head as she took Oliver’s cue and found a seat on the sofa. “Nothing. One of Ray’s theories.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. The wine was incredible; before she knew it her glass was half empty. 

“Um, could I use your bathroom?” she asked. Like a third grade girl. Oliver immediately stood and led the way to one of the closed doors in the hallway. Ah ha. 

The hall was empty when she came out; she tiptoed back to the tv room and peeked around the corner. Oliver was sitting forward on the couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor between his feet. 

Felicity hadn’t made a sound but he heard her anyway; he stood and navigated around the couch carefully. Interesting. Maybe he’d had more to drink than she’d realized. She leaned against the doorway, one bare foot on top of the other, and gazed up at him.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“For what?” Almost a whisper from the dashing Mr Queen.

“For taking me in. Not making me stay with the Merlyn’s.”

Oliver huffed a laugh. “Tommy and Laurel will be lucky to take care of themselves tonight.” He took a step closer, causing Felicity to have to tip her head back to keep eye contact. From this distance she could see the color variation forty-four years on the planet had left in his beard. Without thinking, she reached up and stroked the side of his jaw with her thumb. 

He froze for just a second; something flashed in his eyes and then was gone. His eyelids fluttered shut and he leaned—just a tiny bit—into her hand. 

“It’s going gray,” he whispered without opening his eyes. 

“It suits you.” She sighed. “Women age, but men become distinguished. ‘Twas ever thus.”

Oliver’s eyes opened, those blue blue eyes that used to almost glitter in the sunlight from the other side of the quad. Felicity suddenly had a vision of a twenty-one year old Oliver, burdened down with hockey gear and sweaty from practice but still insisting on carrying her books across campus because they’d happened to run into each other. 

“You were always so nice to me,” she whispered, her thumb continuing to caress his scruff. 

“I’m still nice,” he whispered back. Was the earth tilting on its axis because she was drunk, or was he moving closer? Felicity closed her eyes in case it wasn’t the alcohol. 

The first kiss was slow; not tentative, she decided, but reverent. As if they’d been waiting their whole lives for just that moment. Felicity was the first to try tasting with her tongue; it darted out to touch the seam of his lips and he made a sound deep in his chest. I could’ve felt that sound, if I’d been against him, she thought crazily. 

The next second she was, against him, caught up in his arms and pressed to his chest. Felicity pushed up on her tiptoes to get closer as his mouth opened for her, inviting her in and pulling a moan out of her. 

Her hands were at his waist; she walked her fingers around his sides to get to the muscles of his broad back, trying to see if she could pull him closer. Her back was against the doorframe, not quite comfortable with Oliver pushing against her. He picked up on her discomfort and pivoted both of them against the couch, encouraging her to hike herself onto the back and open her legs to allow him to get closer. 

“Skirt,” she mumbled against his mouth, meaning it was too tight for those kind of gymnastics. Oliver’s hands ghosted across her back, like they were trying to decide where to go. Felicity felt the fingertips of one of his hands brush the zipper at the back of her skirt, while his other hand dropped to quest after the bottom hem; to try pulling it up, maybe.

The realization that he actually had INTENTIONS with this skirt of hers suddenly stopped her in her tracks.

“Wait. Stop. Oh god. We can’t...I can’t do this.” 

Oliver obligingly froze, pulling away from her mouth to catch her eye. 

“Sorry,” he said immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor as he stepped back from her. Suddenly there was a wall of respectability and formality between them that hadn’t been there since...

Felicity shook her head fast enough to make herself dizzy. She flung an arm out to catch the top edge of the couch and steady herself. 

“No, I’m sorry. Oliver, I—“

“That was totally me, Felicity. Laurel started that stupid conversation tonight that worked everybody up, and then I drank too much and...look, I promise it’ll never happen again.” He ran a hand through his hair and wouldn’t meet her eye. “I’ll show you where the guest rooms are.”

—————————————————————

Felicity lay in the dark; awake, miserable, and still a bit drunk. Dammit. 

The remainder of their evening had been awkward and fake; lots of false cheerfulness and avoidance as Oliver showed her to a room and produced hotel-sized toiletries and a giant t-shirt. One of his. Frack.

“Do you need to be up any certain time? I can, um, set an alarm and come get you...”

“No time in particular,” she assured him as she shifted from foot to foot near the bathroom door. Wanting him to go, but really really wanting him to stay. A tiny voice in her head screamed bloody murder that this was going to be her only chance. Desperation Club, indeed. 

“Okay. Well, goodnight.” Oliver turned at the last minute. “I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”

Felicity swallowed hard, but nodded. 

“Night.”

Two hours later she was still wide awake, alternating between crippling shame that she was officially an adulterer and sexual frustration because she wasn’t even a GOOD one. Would she remember this night as the time she saved her tattered virtue at the last minute, or the time she decided to live a little?

Which SHOULD it be?

Everybody knew Helena and Oliver lived by a very loose interpretation of marriage. And ‘everybody’ included the media outlets. Their marriage had always felt—at least to their little group of friends—more like a business contract than a declaration of love and commitment. The scion of Queen Consolidated and the heiress of a shipping empire; it seemed too good to be true that they would’ve come together for love alone. 

The story went that Oliver had asked Helena during their engagement if she would be taking the Queen name and she had replied, completely straight-faced, that she was already a queen. 

So there was that. 

Felicity pounded a fist into the (very high-end) mattress and inwardly cursed. If Helena carried on openly with a string of admirers outside her marriage (most recently an exiled prince who was photographed sucking her toes, blerg), then it stood to reason that Oliver had an extracurricular love life of his own. There was probably a different bimbo here every night; men that looked like Oliver Queen could command that kind of attention no matter their age. 

So the question became, if Oliver was willing and able, was she?

Felicity finally threw the covers back with a huff and climbed out of bed. Sleep wasn’t coming unless she got some things off her chest—and by ‘things’ she didn’t mean Oliver’s t-shirt. Or maybe she did. 

She was definitely still a bit drunk. 

With every step toward his bedroom Felicity lost a bit of steam and gained a bit of trepidation. By the time she made it to his open door she was shaking. 

“Oliver?” She whispered it, trying to remember if he was a light sleeper. 

“Everything okay?” he asked immediately, sounding wide awake.

“Everything’s fine,” she assured him quickly, pulling down the hem of the big shirt self-consciously. “I just needed to talk.”

“Do you want to come in?” he asked from the darkness.

“No, um, no thanks. I’m fine here. I just, um...tonight you asked me if Ray and I are okay, and the truth is...the truth is we aren’t.” Her hands twisted the bottom of the shirt. “We haven’t been for a long time. I mean, Ray loves me, I know he loves me. He just doesn’t...want me. Anymore. I don’t think he wants ANYONE,” she rushed on to clarify, “he’s just not interested in THAT anymore.”

“But you are,” Oliver prompted quietly. Oh so quietly.

“God yes,” she answered vehemently, surprising a laugh out of him. 

There was a pause while both of them mulled over the situation.

“Um, I guess you and—“ she cleared her throat, painfully aware of whose house she was in—“Helena have come to an understanding about...things.”

“HELENA has come to an understanding,” Oliver clarified before Felicity could go on.

Another pause.

“You mean, um, you haven’t...”

“Gone outside the marriage?” There was a rustle as he moved around in the bed. “Never.”

“So tonight was...”

“A first for me. How ‘bout you?”

He almost sounded teasing. Felicity grinned, caught somewhere between a fit of giggles and a sob. 

“Definitely a first.” Her voice wavered; it was late, she was wrung out emotionally, and dangerously close to crying again.

“Come here,” Oliver said softly. 

————————————————————

His bed was huge. He appeared to be somewhere in the middle of it, but it was hard to tell in the dark. Felicity picked a side—her side, on her bed at home—and stood there with her knees against the mattress, unsure again. 

“C’mon. It’s okay. I won’t try anything.”

“Oliver...” she chastised mildly. She wanted to tell him this wasn’t his fault, because she’d been just as into that kiss as he. 

She wanted to tell him that it would be okay if he DID try something. 

Felicity put a knee on the bed and was suddenly hyper-aware that she was a forty-something wearing a man’s t-shirt—a man NOT her husband—and getting ready to crawl into bed with that man. Thank God she’d kept her underpants on. 

The crawl across the bed became comical because, well, because she couldn’t find him. 

“It’s a big bed,” he warned her with laughter in his voice, reading her mind. Felicity giggled and finally brushed his arm with her fingers.

“There you are,” she said under her breath, at the same time he said “There” with a sigh.  
Oliver’s arm lifted off the bed and she scooted under it, intending to lie very chastely (or as chaste as one can possibly be while wearing a “Co-ed Naked Hockey” t-shirt next to another woman’s husband) with her head on his shoulder. Just a cuddle.

Surely that wouldn’t add too many points to her Adultery Scoreboard.

“You’ll freeze on top of the covers,” he warned; she felt his head lift off the pillow to look at her. 

“I, um...ugh. I don’t know if—“

His arm, draped behind her back, froze.

“You don’t trust me?” 

“I don’t trust ME, Oliver. God! Have you SEEN you?!” 

His head fell back on the pillow with a huffed laugh and she immediately felt bad. 

“Sorry about the loud voice,” she muttered.

“Get under here,” he sighed. “I’m pretty sure I can fight you off if I have to.”

Felicity’s eyebrows shot up but she wasted no time scrambling under the covers; this place was chilly.

“Oops! Cold feet. Sorry. Shoulda warned you.”

“It’s okay.” There was a smile in his voice. “Feels good.”

Her knees seemed to forget their job for a minute; instinct told the top one to slide up along his thigh and rest just under his hip bone, but that...just, NOPE. Maybe they should both bend and just rest along his leg, and then she could try to put her head on his shoulder, like some sort of hybrid fetal position. Ugh. Too weird, and very uncomfortable. She straightened her arms and sat back up.

“How ya doing?” Oliver asked, his voice laced with amusement. 

“Gah. I’m totally screwing this up. Why...” she sighed, trailing off her thought with a tsk of her tongue.

“Why what?” he prompted softly.

“Why do you even want to do this with me? I mean, really. I’m a mess. I really am.”

“Felicity.” Somehow his hand found her face in the dark on the first try; he cupped her jaw tenderly. “You’re remarkable. I’ve always thought so.”

“Oliver...”

And there it was. They were going to kiss again, and things would progress, and she would finally find out what it was like to sleep with Oliver Queen. A twenty-five year fantasy in the making. 

Oh. God. 

But it didn’t happen. His hand released her jaw and lifted to brush her hair back from her face and then he guided her back down under the crook of his arm. His hand dropped to her waist and rested there as if it had done that every day of his life. 

Felicity stared into the darkness. Wow.

“Oliver?” she whispered, after counting to one hundred in her head. 

“Yeah.”

“Did you and Helena know...” She took a breath and rushed on. “did you know you didn’t want kids when you got married? I mean, did you talk about it?”

Felicity felt his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “Helena knew. She made it clear from the get-go. And I was, what, twenty-six? I didn’t even want to think about kids yet.”

“But...later?”

“I mean, babies started being born, our friends were busy figuring it all out and, you know, it intrigued me.”

“Not the twins.”

“God no!” Felicity laughed out loud. “Not the twins,” he chuckled. “No. What really got me was Milo.”

Felicity’s hand, resting near his pec, flattened in surprise against his chest. 

“Milo Raymond? Kicked off the bus on a regular basis Milo Raymond?!”

Oliver huffed a laugh. “I know. Crazy. But he’s a cute little guy. He’s the kind of kid I imagine I was back in the day.” It was quiet in the room for a few seconds. “The kind of kid I might get, in the genetic lottery.”

Felicity melted to goo on the inside. Gah, this man. 

“What about you and Ray?” he prompted softly. 

She didn’t answer right away. “I thought I had time. I thought he’d want kids eventually, so I didn’t push.” Felicity sighed. “You know Ray. He’d probably be tickled to have a kid, until he misplaced it under a pile of papers.” Oliver chuckled. 

“You still have time,” he assured her warmly. “Just tell him you need to get started.”

She shook her head against his shoulder. “He’s not interested. In me. He has his own bedroom, his own schedule. We haven’t...it’s been months. We’re...roommates.” 

A tear leaked out, surprising the hell out of her. Oliver must’ve felt it as it slid from her skin to his, because his arm tightened around her. He turned his head and left the softest kiss imaginable against her head. 

Felicity was drifting off to sleep when one final thought occurred to her.

“Oliver?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think they’ll actually do it? Desperation Club?”

Oliver squeezed her against him for just a second.

“God, I hope not.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A note: Tommy Merlyn is, in my opinion, one of the best characters in the history of ever, but he’s going to be an asshole in this chapter. Just know I love him dearly, really.

Felicity woke up alone in a bed bigger than some desert islands. Morning sunlight filtering through the curtains showed her the room she had navigated in darkness the night before; she really was alone in here.

She scooted her way to the edge and tiptoed out of bed and across the room, cursing her overactive imagination that pictured Helena home early from Paris and Oliver attempting to distract her (it would be awkwardly obvious, Helena would be very suspicious) so Felicity could escape out the window. Except, penthouse. 

She opened the bedroom door a crack and listened for voices, then slipped out into the hall and scampered to the safety of her own room. From here at least she could claim she’d never left her own bed. 

She was becoming alarmingly good at this adultery thing. 

Felicity dressed in the only clothes she had, did the best she could with no makeup and no hairbrush, and let herself back out into the hall to find Oliver.

He was in the kitchen, dressed for the weekend and making pancakes. His eyes flicked to her and back to the stove and she KNEW: He regretted last night. 

“There you are.” She forced a ridiculous amount of cheerfulness into her voice, as if she’d just won the dumbest game of hide-and-seek ever. 

Oliver glanced at her again. “I thought it would be easier if I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

She nodded her understanding even though she didn’t understand and now nothing would ever be the same between them because she’d ruined their friendship and probably her marriage and it was possible she was in a morning-after spiral. 

“Hey,” he said suddenly, waiting until she made eye contact. Concerned about her. “It’s okay.”

“But it’s not, is it,” she whispered, awash in guilt and sadness and mortification at the past twelve hours. 

Oliver moved faster than she could’ve imagined. He stopped just shy of her, within hugging distance but not touching her. His hand twitched at his side, calculating, and then he lifted it to trace a faint line down her arm with his fingers. 

“We’re okay,” he clarified. The two of them. Their friendship. Relationship. Whatever. Felicity nodded again, but this time without the subsequent freak out. 

“Pancakes,” she reminded him softly, indicating the stove with her eyes. He skipped back across the room to turn the batch on the griddle: A little more brown than the others, but not burnt. Saved from disaster, salvageable. Like her marriage.

She’d expected that thought to make her feel better than it actually did. 

“I’ve already called a locksmith,” Oliver informed her as he plated the last batch and began carrying everything to the eating counter. “He’ll meet us at your house to get you in.”

“But eat first,” he prompted thirty seconds later when she still hadn’t moved. Felicity shook her head to clear it and took a seat, leaving an empty bar stool between them. 

The proper way to eat breakfast with someone else’s husband. 

—————————————————————

By late afternoon she was restored in the brownstone, showered and rested, ready to sit down and closely examine—and possibly reassess—her life. But first—and not a delaying tactic AT ALL: Coffee, or one of her many herbal teas? The mind reeled with possibilities. 

The doorbell interrupted her debate; Felicity padded toward the shadow filling the frosted glass window of the front door. The cat, sitting on the back of the couch with his head stuck through the lace curtains, shot her a judgmental look. But that was probably just her guilt complex talking.

Or maybe not. Oliver Queen stood on her doorstep in a sprinkle of rain.

“Hi,” she said brightly. Completely fake. 

“Hey. I would’ve, um, called first, but—“

“No landline. Yeah.”

“Exactly.” He dropped his gaze to the step he was standing on and she realized for the first time that he was holding his hands behind his back. 

“I got a phone call a little while ago, from the manager at Razzy’s. One of the servers found your purse in the alley late last night.”

He pulled it out from behind his back and presented it to her. Felicity squealed and held her hands out for it.

“The credit cards and the cash are gone, but somehow they missed your phone, so that’s something.”

Felicity bounced on her toes with glee as she catalogued its contents with walking fingers.

“Well Ray would’ve taken care of the credit cards as soon as he got my message. And joke’s on them,” she glanced up at Oliver with a grin, “because I didn’t have any cash.”

Oliver’s face broke into a smile. The rain was coming down harder now; he hunched his shoulders and squinted at her.

“Wasn’t there a porch here at one point?” he asked, glancing above himself. 

Felicity was still rifling. “Yeah. We had to tear it down. But it’s on the list,” she sing-songed. “I was just making coffee. Or tea. You wanna come in?”

She turned around without waiting for an answer, and after a momentary hesitation Oliver followed. The cat shot past his feet and streaked up the stairs in an orange blur.

“Woah!”

“Don’t mind him,” Felicity advised absent-mindedly, checking her phone activity. 

“Sit,” she ordered when they entered the kitchen, head still bent to the phone. She seemed to remember what she was supposed to be doing when her hip grazed the kitchen counter; she set the phone face-down and turned.

“Oh! Coffee? Tea?” Felicity curtseyed crazily. “Me? Ha ha. Not me, obviously. Oh god.” She spun away to the counter and braced herself against it in embarrassment. 

Oliver chuckled, but his eyes were pained. “It’s okay, Felicity. I didn’t mean to make this weird. Weirder.” He cleared his throat. “And coffee, please.”

Watching the coffee machine became an odyssey for them both; anything to avoid the next awkward sentence. Felicity brought their mugs to the table with a package of shortbread cookies and curled up in the chair opposite him. The rain began to peck at the kitchen window in earnest. 

“Thanks,” Oliver said quietly. He scrunched and rolled his right shoulder with a little wince; Felicity’s fingers froze against the package of cookies.

“Stiff neck?”

His lips ticked up at the corners. “Just a twinge.” The smile widened briefly. “Gettin’ old.”

“Here.” She popped a cookie into her mouth and uncurled from her seat to circle around behind his back. “Where’s it hurt?” she asked around a mouthful of cookie. “Here?”

“Mmm. Yeah. Right there.”

Felicity kneaded his neck and shoulder, concentrating on the spot he’d indicated, but when he rolled his head, obviously enjoying the attention, she continued to work her way across to the other side. 

“You remember when we used to all meet up in your room after one of your hockey games—“

“And you’d give me a shoulder rub? YES.”

Felicity grinned and dug in harder, making him groan. “We’d get pizza from that place...“

“Pirelli’s.”

“Pirelli’s. Yeah.”

“Their pizza was shit, but their—“

“Breadsticks,” they said at the same time. 

Felicity laughed. “God, their breadsticks were fabulous. Remember when Caitlin started calling them crack sticks?” Oliver chuckled acknowledgment. “Tommy made it her nickname for the rest of the semester,” she finished. 

The sound of the front door slamming made Felicity jump; her hands froze on Oliver’s shoulders for a second before she pulled them away like she’d been burned. A rather wet Ray Palmer stepped into the kitchen with a cheerful “Afternoon!”

“Ray,” Felicity observed stupidly, as guilty as it was possible to look.

“Oh hey, Oliver. I didn’t see your car out front.”

Oliver’s chuckle was only faintly nervous. “Hi, Ray. Yeah, I’m parked around the corner.”

“Oliver brought me my purse. Which they found. Last night. After it was stolen.” There was a pause. “They didn’t take my phone.”

Ray smiled cheerfully. “Great! New credit cards are in the mail.” Felicity nodded, nailed to the floor at Oliver’s back. Why couldn’t she move?

“Well,” he concluded, “don’t let me keep you. I’m just passing through to grab clean clothes before I head back out at the crack of dawn.”

“All your laundry should be clean. Your shirts are hanging up over the dryer.”

“Perfect. Thanks. Good to see you, Oliver.”

Oliver lifted a hand. “Bye, Ray.”

The rain was the only sound for a full minute.

“I should go,” Oliver said quietly. He made no move to get up. 

“Oliver,” she whispered. Lost.

“Felicity?” Ray’s voice drifted up from their dungeon of a basement. “Have you seen my...” The rest was muffled by a small crash.

“I better go help him.” She was walking through the doorway before she remembered to thank Oliver for rescuing her purse.

“Anytime. Thanks for the coffee.”

By the time she’d sorted her husband out and climbed back up the stairs her kitchen was empty. 

————————————————————

Guy’s Night. Oliver had considered canceling all day, but still somehow found himself walking through Razzy’s front door. Tommy was holding down a table, beer in hand, suit coat off and sleeves rolled up. His face looked like it belonged on the lead rack turner of the Spanish Inquisition.

“Anything you need to tell me?” he asked without preamble, eyes dark.

“What?” Oliver feigned annoyance. 

“We spend all night last Friday talking about this stupid Desperation Club thing and then you and Felicity disappear together.”

“Her purse got stolen, Tommy. I took her home. Or were you too drunk to remember?”

“Then why do you look so damn guilty?”

“Jesus, Tommy,” Oliver groaned. “At least let me get a drink before you start.”

He bought himself some time at the bar, but the look on Tommy’s face hadn’t moved an inch by the time he returned. 

“Tommy, I don’t think this is—“

“Ronnie’s running late. Ray’s in Philadelphia. Talk.”

Oliver shot his best friend a desperate look.

“Oliver Jonas Queen, I have known you since I was six years old. I know when something’s up.”

Oliver ran a hand up over his face; telling Tommy felt like a betrayal of Felicity. Betrayals were stacking up lately. 

“Without her keys she couldn’t get into her house. So she stayed at the penthouse.”

Silence.

“And?”

“And nothing, Tommy.”

Tommy shook his head grimly. “You wouldn’t look like that if nothing happened.”

Oliver closed his eyes. “One kiss,” he practically whispered. “That was it.” He couldn’t tell him about the bed. There was nothing to tell.

Tommy snorted. “Well, Helena won’t care, but is Felicity going to tell Ray?”

Oliver ignored the crack about his wife. “That’s up to Felicity, isn’t it. It’s certainly not going to happen again.”

Tommy tipped his head; if you ignored the hardness in his eyes he only looked teasing. 

“Even if Ray signs the consent?”

“I haven’t knocked you out since we were in High School, Tommy. But I swear to God—“

Tommy’s eyes flicked to something behind Oliver’s shoulder and suddenly Ronnie was on them, sighing heavily as he hauled himself and his beer into a seat. 

“Holy shit what a terrible week,” he groaned. 

Oliver’s eyes dropped to the label on his bottle; he picked at it absently with his thumbnail while the usual niceties were exchanged. Wings were ordered, along with a second beer for everybody.

“Wonderwall” came on, and each of the guys smiled a little at the memories the song stirred up, until two twenty-somethings walking by made a joke about the “oldies” Razzy’s always insisted on playing; their smiles faded. 

It was thirty minutes before the inevitable discussion came up. 

“I don’t know man,” Ronnie sighed. “Should I let you sleep with my wife?” Oliver and Tommy blinked at each other in surprise, their own animosity momentarily sidelined.  
“I’m just so. Damn. Tired. All the time.”

Tommy swallowed, his eyes flicking to Oliver in mild panic. “Is it...that...Low T thing?” He waved his beer around as he talked, clearly uncomfortable.

“Nah, it’s fine. She made me get tested.”

Oliver and Tommy both breathed a sigh of relief, now that the awkwardness was over.

“I just...I spend all day managing the money of rich assholes—no offense, Oliver—“ Oliver finished his sip of beer and tipped the neck of his bottle at Ronnie in a salute—“and then I come home and there’s never enough money, you know? No matter what I do. I mean, last week there’s a new piece of fucking furniture in the living room!” He threw both hands up in defeat. “Look. Caitlin’s amazing. She’s a wonderful mother. I couldn’t do half the things she does, but...we’ve been doing this all these years on one income. And it’s like I’m the only one worried about money. I can’t sleep at night wondering what would happen if I lost my job, or if one of the kids got sick.”

Silence hung over the table for a moment.

“I’m not twenty anymore.” Ronnie sounded lost. “I don’t think about sex twenty four-seven now, you know? And with everything else...I don’t know. Something had to give.”

Oliver and Tommy watched Ronnie for a couple of breaths before Tommy cleared his throat. 

“And you think me fucking your wife is going to solve all that?”

There was a micro second of shocked silence before the three of them broke up laughing, humanity’s magic trick of turning despair into hilarity. Ronnie ordered another round.

—————————————————————

“I know you’re all wondering why I called you here,” Laurel practically shouted over the bar noise. “I know it isn’t Fifth Friday, but we won’t get another one of those for a couple of months. And we have business to attend to.”

She pulled a stack of papers out of her bag; they dropped on the table with a smack amid a chorus of groans and one particularly raunchy cat-call. Tommy had started drinking early, it would seem.

Felicity glanced over her shoulder at the bar where Ray was getting their drinks. His schedule had allowed him to join them, for once. She would’ve preferred not, under the circumstances, but there was no way to do it without him; he was on the group text. 

“Where’s Oliver?” Ronnie called out from his seat next to Tommy. He and Caitlin were splitting a basket of onion rings; she was showing Sara something on her phone.

Laurel checked her Fitbit with a frown. “Screw him, I have a kid to get to a sleepover in an hour.”

“Screw HIM,” Tommy yelled. “Shouldn’t it be screw ME?! Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Felicity jumped when her husband leaned down next to her ear, her wine glass in his hand. 

“I feel like I’ve missed something.”

She feigned indifference, but her heart was beating out of her chest. 

“Okay.” Laurel began passing out the stapled packets like the bossy kid who always begs everyone to play school and then demands to be the teacher. Tommy flipped through his sloppily; Sara used hers as a coaster. Ronnie spent more time on his, a frown of concentration on his face. His eyes kept flicking to his wife.

By the time they’d made their way around the table to the Palmers Felicity had broken out into a cold sweat. Ray bent his head to get a closer look at his copy.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked quietly; she was the only one who could possibly have heard him, but Felicity caught Sara watching them both closely from across the table. She leaned toward her husband and took a deep breath.

“It’s just some stupid thing Laurel came up with. It’s nothing,” she hollered. Unfortunately, Laurel heard.

“I beg your pardon, Felicity! You’ve been in on it from the beginning. You wrote down the rules. You NAMED it, for God’s sake!”

Ray’s eyes had been skimming the contract in his quirky speed-reading way, but they slowly lifted to his wife.

“Cut it out, Laurel.”

All eyes flew to the new voice: Oliver had arrived. 

“Ollie,” Tommy yelled. “Grab a cold one and catch up, buddy boy!”

“No thanks,” he said, in a way that made it clear he would not be drinking. 

Felicity suddenly thought she might be sick. “Be right back,” she mumbled, pushing away from the table and slipping between her husband and Oliver on her way to the restroom.

“God, I hope Smoaky signs this damn thing,” Tommy hollered. “That’s a fucking beautiful thing to watch walking away.” 

Ray’s head shot up, but Oliver moved first. In two steps he had both hands on the collar of Tommy’s shirt, jerking him off his stool and laying him out cold. Laurel and Caitlin both screamed.

Across the noisy room Felicity felt the atmosphere shift, a subtle ripple of human concern that spread around and then past her, a reaction to something that had just happened behind her. She turned to look back and saw Oliver standing over an inert Tommy; the bartender was already reaching out to grab Oliver’s arm. He turned and left without protest, stepping over his best friend; Sara followed him out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enormous thanks and gratitude for the overwhelming response to this story.
> 
> You might consider playing Joni Mitchell’s Both Sides Now towards the latter half of this chapter. (Yes, the one from Love Actually.)
> 
> I bear no responsibility for anything that happens after that. ;)

Felicity couldn’t stop shaking. All the way home in the car, up the front steps, inside the darkened house with Ray just behind her. She clenched her hands into fists and pushed those fists down to her sides, holding herself rigid. Keeping everything in. 

She tried to do all the regular nighttime things, but the cat food container would not cooperate, dammit. Ray had followed her into the kitchen, maddeningly watchful, aware of her, for once.

“I’ll feed the cat. You go get ready for bed,” he offered softly, bending over to pick up the scattered pieces of food she’d spilled with her shakes. The stairs to the second floor seemed to go on forever; Felicity climbed them like she was headed to her own execution. She spent forever in the bathroom, careful not to make eye contact with herself in the mirror. 

She emerged to find Ray on his side of the bed—her bed, lately—the nightstand light on and a peer review journal in his hands. His head turned on the pillow when he heard her. 

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly. She nodded, knowing he would get up without protest and go back to his room if she said no. Sweet, goofy, handsome Ray. 

They made love, a dance they’d choreographed back when they were still practically kids; it was warm and safe and familiar. Afterwards she held him close so he wouldn’t see she was gritting her teeth to keep from crying. They finally separated and his head dropped to the pillow beside her; he grinned sleepily at her, sweet, lovable Ray, a little salt-and-pepper now but still the same old face, always the smartest guy in any room.

And the most clueless.

Felicity rolled away from him, out of bed, both relieved and furious that he hadn’t noticed the stray tear that had slipped past her guard as he looked at her. She had to brace herself along the wall with a hand to keep the sobs in as she walked to the bathroom. God, why were bathrooms always so echoey? She ran the faucet to cover the sounds of her weeping.

Handsome, smart, loyal, Ray Palmer.

Why wasn’t he enough?

——————————————————————

Oliver waited to pick up the call until it was almost gone to voicemail. 

“Thanks for answering.”

Tommy’s Hungover Voice and his Contrite Voice were virtually the same; it took Oliver a minute to realize he was listening to the second one.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, the Rockets have an afternoon game Thursday, if you can get away.”

Oliver stared out over the city from the windows of the penthouse; the late Tuesday afternoon sun was just beginning to make the bay sparkle. 

“You planning on drinking?” he asked quietly. 

There was a beat of silence.

“No.”

Oliver inhaled and exhaled through his nose.

“Okay.”

——————————————————————-

A flurry of text messages brought them together for a rushed lunch on Wednesday, squeezed in to accommodate four different hectic schedules. Caitlin picked apart her salad and distributed the bits she hated—tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and the purple bits of lettuce—to the other girls’ plates just like she’d done for the last twenty-five years. Felicity really wasn’t a big fan of cucumber, but she hadn’t protested the first time it happened, and it seemed too late to say anything at this point.

“How’s Tommy?” Caitlin asked as she dipped a crouton into her salad dressing. 

Laurel shrugged. “Bruised. Grumpy. God, he’s been impossible lately.” That was as close to an apology for her husband’s behavior as they were going to get. “Has anybody heard from Oliver?”

All eyes turned to Felicity automatically; she jerked back in surprise, her face going hot.

“Why are you looking at me?” She flipped a hand to the seat beside her, her heart beating wildly with guilt. “Ask Sara. She’s the one who left with him.”

Laurel shrugged, while Caitlin became unusually fixated on her salad. “We just assumed, since...” Laurel shrugged again, a bit of meanness in her eyes. She and Tommy really were suited for each other; no wonder their kids were brats. 

“Since what, Laurel?” Felicity’s voice gained an edge; Caitlin’s eyes popped up from her salad to watch. 

“Ollie’s okay.” Sara answered the question, verbally inserting herself between her sister and her one-time roommate. “Helena’s home,” she added, to no one in particular, and Felicity’s heart sank a little. She stabbed at her salad unnecessarily hard. 

“What did Ronnie say about the new chair?” Laurel asked then, already over the bar fight and poking Felicity about Oliver. Caitlin lifted her fork and dropped her shoulders. 

“He flipped out, as usual.”

“Even after you told him how much you paid?”

Caitlin had been so proud of it: She’d stalked it for months at the local HomeGoods, praying it wouldn’t sell before it went on clearance, and then snagged it with a pile of gift cards she’d been saving up for two birthdays. In the end it cost her less than twenty bucks.

“What’s the point in trying to explain it when he’s on a rant about money?” Caitlin rolled her eyes. “It’s his favorite subject.” She made three attempts to stab a crouton before giving up and grabbing it with her fingers. “He’s hinting hard that it’s time for me to get a job, but, like, who’s going to get the kids to the orthodontist when they have an appointment during the school day, or take the cars in for service? Did I tell you a couple weeks ago his check engine light came on as he was backing out of the garage, so he took my car and I had to nurse his over to the dealership to get it checked out?” Another crouton fell under the onslaught of her fork; Felicity eyed it warily, worried it might become a projectile. 

“You’d think Ronnie would be into sex,” Caitlin shrugged in conclusion. “It’s free.”

They all giggled, but then Laurel’s eyes flicked up from her lunch to catch Sara and Felicity in one of her lawyer looks. “You girls don’t know how good you have it. Families are freakin’ expensive.”

Caitlin nodded along enthusiastically as she chewed, eyes down; neither of them caught the fleeting look of hurt and despair in Felicity’s eyes. 

But Sara did. 

—————————————————————

Oliver found Tommy outside the stadium wearing the battered Rockets cap with the broken-in bill he’d been wearing to every game since 1994. The left side of his jaw was still bluish-purple.

“Next time hit me somewhere I can hide with a pair of shades, yeah?”

“You ever gonna get rid of that piece of shit?” Oliver tipped his chin at the cap.

“What kind of fan are you? This is a fuckin’ good luck charm.” Straight faced. Maybe actually mad; it was hard to tell when his eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses.

“Or the reason we haven’t won a series in 75 years.”

The facade finally cracked; a ghost of a smile crossed Tommy’s face. He held a ticket out to Oliver and they both turned to head inside.

“These seats better be behind home plate or I’m leaving,” Oliver drawled.

It was the bottom of the third before the conversation really started. 

“I owe you an apology,” Tommy said quietly, hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes trained on the game.

“Not me,” Oliver corrected with a shake of his head. “Felicity. And Ray.”

Tommy nodded faintly. “Yeah, but you too.” 

Oliver crossed his arms and leaned back, waiting for his best friend to collect his thoughts. 

“This isn’t about a sex club, or whether or not you and Felicity...”

Oliver’s head turned toward Tommy for the first time, squinting against the sun. Wary. Warning.

“Anyway,” Tommy wisely went on without finishing the thought, “my behavior, it was NOT good. I get that. But...I didn’t know what else to do with the newfound knowledge that my wife no longer wants me.”

Oliver’s chin dropped and he nodded slowly, staring out at nothing even though the game was going on in front of them.

“It’s not like we thought it would be, is it?” he asked quietly.

The Rockets got a runner on base as Tommy shook his head no.

——————————————————————

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

A pause.

“Hi.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Can you talk?”

Felicity glanced around the dim and empty brownstone; dusk had crept up on her and left her in the dark with the curtains still open. Even the cat had abandoned her, probably mad about some unintentional slight.

“Yeah. What’s up?” she asked quietly.

“Expect an apology from Merlyn forthwith. Fair warning.” His delivery was easygoing on the surface, but she sensed an underlying strain. He hadn’t called to give her a heads up about Tommy.

“Oliver?” 

She heard him sigh into the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you really call?”

They breathed together for several seconds. A siren wailed to life in the distance.

“Can I...could we meet up somewhere? For coffee or something?”

She flipped the phone away from her ear long enough to check the time and bit her lip.

“I mean, not if Ray’s there—“

“He’s not,” she cut him off quickly, “he’s not. He’s, um, out of town. Until tomorrow.”

“I totally understand if you don’t want to...”

“No. I mean yes.”

A beat.

“Yes, you don’t want to?”

“No, I mean yes. Yes, I’ll meet you.” She rolled her eyes at her lifelong inability to manipulate the English language in times of crisis. “Where?”

“Someplace close to you would be fine.” 

Someplace well outside Helena’s sphere of influence, he meant. The woman wouldn’t be caught dead in her neighborhood. 

“There’s a coffeehouse on 18th and Walnut. They have live music on Thursday nights.”

“Okay.”

Felicity did a quick time/speed/distance calculation in her head. “Forty minutes?”

“See you then.”

——————————————————————

I am an adulterer. 

The phrase swirled around in her head as she dressed, serenaded her in a silly voice as she dumped food in the cat’s bowl and trotted out the door—late, as usual—and crescendoed into an operatic soprano backed by a symphony orchestra as she parallel parked and got out of the car. 

I am that person. 

I am my father. 

Felicity nearly doubled over on the sidewalk, paralyzed by the realization; but then she spotted him, waiting on the corner, wearing jeans and a button down shirt. Not smiling, exactly, but soft, around the eyes. He had a look of deep longing and complete contentment, all in one. Something in her settled; she took a deep breath and kept walking. 

The evening’s entertainment featured a blonde with an acoustic guitar; Oliver leaned over and asked Felicity in a low voice if he should request Smelly Cat and they giggled for the next ten minutes. 

They talked about their week; her lunch date with the girls, his afternoon at the ballpark with Tommy. She thought the lunch portion was way too small for what they charged. He regretted forgetting sunscreen. 

They didn’t mention Ray. Or Helena. 

He paid for her coffee and the carrot cake they’d split, but he didn’t touch her, not once during that whole hour. Not until they were getting up to leave and his hand came to rest against the small of her back to guide her around the neighboring tables; Felicity slowed imperceptibly to push back against his palm, to feel as much of him as possible before they parted ways.

Because this was a goodbye. She could feel it. 

He walked her to her car; she stood with the driver’s side door open between them. Joked about the humidity. Thanked him again for treating. 

She drove home in a haze of regret and sadness to find a light on in the living room. 

————————————————————-

Her husband was in his cluttered and slightly dusty office, sorting absently through a pile of textbooks on his desk. The corners of his mouth ticked up when he saw her.

“When did you...” Felicity trailed off, unsure if she was about to finish that sentence with “get here” or “figure it out”. 

Ray Palmer smiled softly at his wife.

“I may be absentminded, Felicity, but I’ve never been stupid.”

She trailed him out into the living room and watched him sit in the chair they had unearthed at a local flea market, more than fifteen years ago now; the Craftsman style chair that didn’t match a single thing they owned but Ray had to have because it was huge and solid and could comfortably accommodate his tall frame. It had proven to be both slightly ridiculous and strangely endearing.

Like its occupant.

She opened her mouth to say his name, the surprise of him being here combined with her guilt making her heart race painfully—rabbits sometimes get so scared they die, she thought wildly.

“I hardly have an adult memory that doesn’t relate in some way to you,” Ray said in his conversational way, staring into the middle distance.

‘Don’t let me keep you’, he’d said when he found Oliver Queen in his kitchen. With his wife. 

The tears slipped out unbidden; Felicity pressed both hands against her mouth, understanding at last that Ray had given her up at that moment in their kitchen, a week before the bar fight. A week before he’d made love to her one last time.

She moaned brokenly against her hands. “Ray, Oliver and I...we didn’t, we only—“

Ray wrinkled his nose. “I’d rather not know the details, actually.”

She nodded furiously and swiped under her eyes; he patted the flat wooden arm of his chair in invitation and Felicity crossed the room to perch on it. 

“Do you two have plans, to be together?” he asked softly. So calm. “To run off to Aruba, or something?”

Felicity shook her head vehemently. “No, Ray. It’s not like that. He and Helena are still...whatever they are. And we’ve never, I mean there haven’t been any conversations about...being together. Like that.” God, this was so fucking hard.

Ray huffed a laugh. “I’m a scientist, Felicity. I understand Cause and Effect. What happened? With us.”

Felicity sighed deeply; the knot in her stomach was unbelievable. “I don’t know,” she whispered, knowing exactly. “Did you...not want children?” Her voice squeaked at the end; she cleared her throat and sniffed.

“I guess I was never opposed to the idea, in theory, but we weren’t ready at first, and the older I got the less important it seemed. And now...” He trailed off and lifted his hands. 

They sat in silence for several minutes. At some point the cat slunk halfway down the stairs and settled in to stare at them through the spindles, an orange lump of silent judgement.

“What happens now?” she whispered, because the knot in her gut was beginning to ease and she was not ready to give herself any grace. 

“My friend Paul Whitner—you remember him.” Felicity nodded, though she didn’t really. “He’s been trying to get me to come east to do a lecture series at Harvard.” He paused. “If we can get it worked out I would be gone six weeks or so. I think the space would be a good thing for us. For you to figure out what you want.”

Felicity swallowed against a lump in her throat and nodded. She was crying again. Even though the last few months felt like they had only been married on paper, the thought of living here without him—maybe forever—made her incredibly sad. 

“I’m not sure Oliver even wants me,” she whispered, not intending to say that out loud, as usual. She didn’t see it, but Ray smiled sadly. 

“I imagine Oliver Queen has loved you at least as long as I have.” 

He leaned forward to indicate his intention to stand and Felicity moved out of his way in a trance, trying to process his last sentence. 

“Try to get some rest,” he said kindly as he walked away, leaving her to turn out the lights.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could have stayed in this chapter forever; I love them so. 
> 
> Fair warning: I’ve always had the final scene to this story in my head, but not the lead-up to it. When it came to me yesterday it literally took my breath away. Next time.
> 
> Thanks again for all the love.

“Well that sucks.”

“I know! What am I gonna do?”

There was a moment of contemplation.

“How long did you say it’s been?”

“I just got back from that two-day conference I go to every year.”

“The one in Portland?”

“They moved it to Redmond this year, actually.”

“That’s cool. Redmond’s a nice town.”

“It was nice.”

“There’s good skiing near there.”

“Oliver, we’re straying off topic.”

“I know. I was stalling because I have no idea how long it takes for something that has died to start smelling this bad.” Oliver wrinkled his nose, hands on his hips. “You’re sure it’s behind this wall.”

“Well I THINK so. There’s really no way to tell for sure unless we knock a hole in it. I mean, is that what you would do?”

“Usually my solution to this kind of problem is to throw money at it,” he admitted as he stared at the wall, hands in his pockets.

“I thought of that. I Googled ‘Dead-Animal-in-Wall Remover’ and nobody’s name popped up.”

“Except mine, I guess.” Sarcasm.

“Ronnie’s an idiot and Tommy would be in hysterics already.” 

He couldn’t fault her logic.

“Ray out of town?” he asked casually. Busy looking everywhere but at her. 

“Boston,” she replied, with forced breeziness.

A thought occurred to Oliver; he raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Have you seen your cat lately?”

“It’s not the CAT. He’s around here...somewhere.”

Oliver stared at her meaningfully.

“His bowl is empty, Oliver.” She gestured in that direction. “It’s not the cat.” They both contemplated the kitchen wall again in silence. “Maybe I could wait it out,” she ventured with a faint lift of her shoulders.

“And what, breathe through your mouth for a couple of months until it finishes decomposing?”

Felicity bit her lip and stared up at him in desperation; Oliver’s eyes flicked down to her mouth and back up.

“Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she whispered dramatically, batting her eyelashes. His face broke into a slow smile and she grinned.

“I’ll give it a try. You got a hammer or something?” Oliver shrugged out of his suit coat and handed it off to her while simultaneously loosening his tie. 

“Dressed like THAT?” she practically yelled. 

He paused to look at her. “I don’t own Demolition Wear, Felicity.”

“Umm, but that should totally be a thing,” she decided, folding his coat and draping it over her arm. She folded his tie too, tucking it into the breast pocket just the way he liked. Felicity glanced up as she finished; Oliver was...gazing at her.

It had been a long time since anyone had gazed at her. She stepped aside to lay the coat carefully over a kitchen chair, hoping he hadn’t seen her face turn pink. 

—————————————————————-

A half an hour later they both sat at the kitchen table, staring at the wall in defeat. Oliver was covered in dust and debris from his head to the tips of his very expensive shoes. 

“Well shit. I’ve put a dozen holes in that wall and still haven’t found it.”

“Sixteen.”

His head swiveled slowly to his right.

“Sixteen holes,” Felicity reiterated, mouthing it silently as she pointed randomly around the wall. “But that’s not important,” she amended quickly. “The good news is it smells even worse now, which means we must have the right wall.”

“We need to talk about your definition of good news.”

She flashed him a winning smile; Oliver tried and failed to maintain his glare. 

“What time is it? We should eat,” Felicity decided. “Pizza? Chinese? Indian? They all deliver around here.”

“Chinese sounds good,” Oliver sighed. “And...you think I could take a shower?”

Felicity had a college flashback of being surprised by Oliver Queen in a dangerously low-slung towel when she’d stopped by unannounced to bring him her Econ notes. She swallowed hard and nodded. “Follow me,” she choked out.

—————————————————————

They ate sitting on the living room floor around the coffee table because of the smell—and now mess—in the kitchen. Oliver’s hair was damp and spiky, his feet bare; he was wearing a pair of Ray’s sweat pants and an extra-large t-shirt Felicity had recently received by mistake at a corporate function.

“Hot pink is your color, I must say.” 

Oliver pointed his chopsticks at her as a warning and she giggled. 

“I don’t know how you’re going to be able to sleep here tonight,” he said around a mouthful of Lo Mein. “I could still smell it in the shower.”

Felicity growled in frustration. “I hate hotels.”

Oliver dug purposefully into his takeout box. “You’re welcome to stay at the penthouse anytime,” he said quietly.

Felicity studied him for several seconds before speaking. “Helena’s away again?”

“Tuscany, with her mother.”

Felicity nodded and studied the half-eaten egg roll she was rolling back and forth beneath her fingers.

“Oliver...I don’t...I don’t think I should.” She looked up in time to catch him nodding slowly. 

They finished eating in silence; Felicity finally picked up the remote and surfed through Netflix absently. 

“What’s your poison?” she asked, faking cheerfulness. 

“Something I’ve already seen. I don’t feel like concentrating at the moment.”

Felicity picked a random episode of Frasier; Oliver leaned back on his elbows with his legs straight out in front of him and laughed out loud at the Crane brothers’ disastrous attempts to run their own restaurant. 

Felicity spent most of the episode watching Oliver. 

“Popcorn,” she practically shouted when the credits started rolling. “Be right back.”

Four minutes and a triggered smoke detector later she flopped back onto the floor near Oliver’s shoulder with a forlorn sigh.

“I think the microwave is ruined.”

“The good news is the burnt popcorn does a remarkable job of covering up the corpse smell,” he teased, straight faced. 

She shoved at his shoulder in mock anger, but quick as a snake he reached across his body and caught her wrist, pulling her close.

The next instant Oliver’s back was on the floor and she was in his arms; their noses were touching.

“Felicity.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“If I asked permission to kiss you right now, would you say yes?” he murmured. 

“If I said yes I’d never be able to stop.”

His nod of understanding made their noses brush together; all Felicity had to do was tip her chin a little and they would be kissing.

So she did. 

And then in no time she was straddling him, and his hands were everywhere, and it felt like being nineteen again and making out with your boyfriend, knowing you had to hurry because your roommate was due back any time from class but you just couldn’t break away from each other. 

Except of course you shared a mortgage with your roommate now, and twenty years of memories, and a marriage license.

Felicity pulled back enough to separate their mouths and could tell Oliver already knew what she was thinking. His hands stilled as he watched her, waiting for her cue. 

“Ray’s in Boston,” she said softly, not knowing that was what she was going to say until it was out.

“You told me,” Oliver murmured, watching her eyes very carefully.

“No, I mean he’s IN Boston. He left a week and a half ago. He’ll be gone another month and a half.” Felicity sighed very softly but Oliver’s lashes still fluttered, they were so close. “We’re separated.”

Oliver’s lips parted slightly and her eyes flew there, wanting him so badly she thought her heart would explode. 

“From upstairs the smell wasn’t that bad, actually,” he whispered, and lifted off the floor enough to recapture her mouth.

————————————————————-

“Would it be okay,” she ventured, “If we just...slept? Tonight?” God, when was she going to be grown up enough to not be awkward and embarrassed about everything? It will be a glorious day if it ever finally happens, Felicity thought with a sigh. 

Oliver was sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting for his turn in the bathroom. “Absolutely. No problem. I think it’s smart to go slow anyway.”

Felicity nodded adamantly, so very relieved to hear him say that. “Okay, good.” She made a dramatic presentation out of waving a hand in front of her pj bottoms and baggy t-shirt. “Unfortunately all my negligees are at my pied-à-terre at the moment,” she joked in a fancy voice.

Oliver smiled, but he also looked thoughtful. He held a hand out for her; Felicity came to him and let him pull her between his knees. 

“You know you don’t have to do anything special to get my attention, right? I’m sold.” He grinned up at her, palming the backs of her knees lightly.

“I know. It’s just...it’s been a looong time since anybody new’s seen me naked, you know?” He nodded, still smiling. “I don’t look like I did in college anymore,” she mostly whispered. 

“None of us do, honey. I promise.”

“Laurel does.”

Oliver smirked. “Tommy told me she wears two sets of those Spanx things in order to stay in size 4 suits,” he confided with a wink. Felicity’s jaw dropped, making him laugh out loud. 

“You still look amazing though,” she noted with a sigh. God, his shoulders alone were unbelievably yummy.

“It’s been a good twenty years since you’ve seen me shirtless, Felicity. I’m not the same, I assure you.”

“What?! Surely the famous Oliver Queen six-pack still lives...” Felicity pushed on his shoulders until he fell back against the mattress, intending to grab his shirttail and see for herself. Oliver yelped in surprise and snatched both her wrists with his hands; the next second SHE was on the bed, trapped on her back under his weight. It was delicious. 

He kissed her breathless for several minutes while she let herself revel in the security of his weight on her, the physical proof of his desire pressing against her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so happy. 

If this was as much as I ever got of him it would be enough, she thought to herself. 

But then his hands began to roam, and she changed her mind about that.

—————————————————————

The cat, completely out of character, met her at the front door, vociferous in his disapproval of the mess in the kitchen. Despite praying all day at work that the terrible smell and the demolished wall and the popcorn disaster and everything that had happened the night before—other than making out and then cuddling all night with Oliver Queen—had just been a bad dream. But the smell, if anything, was worse. 

“If you had done your job, this wouldn’t have happened,” she reminded his fuzzy backside, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and following him down the steps in comfy clothes to see about cleaning up some of the mess. The chime of the doorbell pulled her up short. 

“Hi,” Oliver said when she opened the door, the corners of his mouth turning up. “I haven’t seen that ponytail in a lot of years,” he continued, clearly happy to be reunited with it.

“Oh! Yeah.” She shook her head quickly, making it dance. “I was going to clean some in the kitchen, so...you have a sledgehammer,” she suddenly realized, pointing it out in case he hadn’t noticed. 

“Yup,” he confirmed; his head tipped toward where it rested on his shoulder. “And that isn’t all.” He twisted at the waist to indicate his car, double parked in front of her house. “There’s a giant trash can, and a shop vac, and various other implements of destruction. I now own a crowbar,” he announced proudly.

Felicity’s mouth fell open. “You must’ve been a sight, trying to get all that into the roadster.”

“I was definitely the afternoon’s entertainment at the hardware store,” he admitted with a smile. “I, uh, packed a bag too. If that’s okay.” Felicity nodded happily and his eyes danced.

A driver out on the street laid on his horn in disgust and Oliver winked at her. “Better go get the rest.”

—————————————————————-

“Do you even know what this stuff does?”

Oliver shrugged amiably. “Theoretically.” They both studied the pile of tools laid out on the kitchen floor. “I spent most of the day watching YouTube tutorials.”

“You’re the CEO of a Fortune 500, but sure, demolition and extraction of dead animals is important work too.”

“My EA basically runs the company. Everybody knows that.”

Felicity crossed her arms and chewed the inside of her mouth thoughtfully. “So what’s it gonna be? Crowbar? Pick axe? Scary saw thingy?” Oliver rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“Sledgehammer.” He hefted it onto his shoulder and widened his stance. As good as he looked, Felicity couldn’t help thinking about her poor house.

“Have you, um, ever...used one of those before?” He glanced at her with mock offense and she batted her eyelashes prettily.

“I used to belong to this gym that made you hit a giant tire with a sledgehammer. It was fun.”

“Fun, huh.” She didn’t look convinced.

“Okay. You’ll probably want to stand back.”

Felicity took the hint and scampered into the relative safety of the hallway. 

“I didn’t mean disappear,” he clarified, a little huffy.

“Somebody needs to survive to give the police report,” she reasoned; from somewhere near the front door, it sounded like. 

“Good point.” Oliver blew out a breath and took his first swing.

—————————————————————-

“Ugh,” he said, after the third crash of the hammer meeting the wall.

“Ugh?” Felicity held her bottom lip between her teeth and began squirming and jumping from foot to foot just thinking about what he might be looking at.

“I’m gonna need some paper towels.”

Felicity shuddered. “Counter. By the sink,” she hollered back.

There was a slight pause. “You’re not going to come help, are you.”

“I thought my job was to be the cheerleader. Rah rah,” she added with a giggle. He huffed in reply.

She listened to him shuffle about through the debris and occasionally swear under his breath.

“Trash bag?” he inquired after a minute.

“Under the sink.”

He grunted in reply. More shuffling. The very distinctive sound a trash bag makes when it is opened energetically. One rather worrisome ‘Gah!’ and then an ‘All clear’.

Felicity still hesitated; Oliver was not the practical joker of the group, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stage a little jump-scare to get her back for abandoning him. 

“Are you sure?” She tiptoed forward a couple of steps, primed to flee.

“It’s all sealed up, Felicity. Get in here, ya chicken.”

She gritted her teeth and minced the rest of the way to the kitchen; Oliver was standing next to the industrial sized trash can with the bag in his hand. 

“What was it?” she asked, nose scrunched up in disgust. 

“I’d rather not say,” he said weakly. “It’s gone now, which is all that matters. Coincidentally—“ he gestured with his free hand—“your wall is also gone. Sorry.”

Felicity studied the mess of crumbling plaster and splintered lath and sighed. 

“Do you have any weekend plans, Mr Queen?”

—————————————————————-

They met up every evening at the brownstone, ordered dinner from somewhere different each night, and worked late. Or at least stayed up late. Progress on the wall was slow, mostly because there was a YouTube consultation between every step, and usually some kissing. They laughed a lot, argued good naturedly, and took turns reminiscing. The cat howled and moaned so much about the whole situation Felicity finally moved his food and water into the downstairs bathroom. 

When it was time to give up for the night Oliver would reach for her hand and they would trudge up the stairs together to clean up and fall into bed. The make out sessions were becoming progressively more intense; Felicity let things go further and further each time before her guilt inevitably stopped her. And each time Oliver would simply rearrange them comfortably in the bed, kiss her forehead gently, and hold her close as she fell asleep. 

There was an air of quiet joy and inevitable sadness to every day.

On Friday, Oliver’s fourth night to stay over in the brownstone and the last Friday of the month, Felicity forgot to meet the girls. She and Oliver had already decided that morning to forego more construction in favor of a quick bite out and a trip to one of the big box home improvement stores in the suburbs; it was almost six o’clock when Sara’s text message chimed.

“Oh frack,” Felicity nearly shouted from the passenger seat of Oliver’s car. “I forgot!”

Oliver’s head swiveled from the road to her and back rapidly. “Everything okay?”

“Girl’s Night was tonight. Shit.”

“I can turn around,” he offered, already checking the rear view mirror in case he needed to change lanes. 

Felicity bit her lip but shook her head. “No use now. We usually wrap it up by seven these days.”

“Really.” Oliver sounded surprised. “Guy’s Night always lasts til ten at least.”

Felicity glanced up from texting her excuse to give him a raised eyebrow. “Laurel and Caitlin have families to get back to, Oliver. Kids to oversee.”

“What, and the guys don’t?” Oliver countered, even though his brow was already beginning to knit as realization dawned. When Felicity didn’t answer he glanced over; she was giving him the ‘NOW you get it’ look. He blew out a sigh but said no more. 

They browsed the aisles hand in hand, happy but quiet, and came home empty handed save for a small stack of paint chips for the new wall. They were sitting on the couch together watching tv when Ray called.

Felicity immediately curled into herself, drawing her feet onto the couch and letting go of Oliver’s hand to wrap her arm around her knees. He stood without comment and drifted out of the room, though a piece of him seemed to stay behind with her; he was nowhere and everywhere, all at once. 

The call lasted thirty minutes, though the last ten felt sad and strained; never give a speech longer than twenty minutes, the experts said. Humans have short attention spans. 

Ray asked her about her week, she asked him how he was finding the food. He told her about a little place that served eggs Benedict just the way he liked, the way their old Sunday brunch spot made it. She couldn’t bring herself to mention the kitchen wall and its subsequent adventures, because there was no way to tell it without mentioning Oliver. So instead she swallowed against the ache of unshed tears in her throat and chuckled at the appropriate times during his funny stories, gave the proper responses to their inside jokes, and pretended she was in the house alone.

—————————————————————-

She found Oliver sitting on the back stoop, looking out over the yard; like the rest of the property, it was neglected but full of potential. The sun was out of sight, though ambient light remained. Felicity slipped out the door and sat. 

“I wish this wasn’t so hard for you,” he whispered to his clasped hands resting on his knees. He glanced at her and then away. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I know,” she whispered back with a sniff, because the tears she could hide from her husband stood no chance against Oliver Queen. She rested her head on his shoulder and let them fall as the last of the light bled from the world. 

They made love that night; sad, fantastic, beautiful moments that somehow held both the promise of new beginnings and the resolution of a long goodbye. His beauty and tenderness overwhelmed her, his worship stunned her. It left her breathless and tearful. A miracle. A punishment. 

“I have to be in New York all next week,” he murmured into the darkness as he held her close. They were still skin on skin, barriers down, the pj pants and baggy tee given the night off. 

“When do you go out?” she asked, lifting a hand to tuck some hair behind her ear and staring out at nothing.

“Sunday night.” She nodded against his chest. “Hopefully we can get that wall put back together before I go, and then maybe you can get it painted next week.” He gave her a little squeeze. “Surprise me with the color.” There was a smile in his voice. 

“I was thinking I might repaint the whole kitchen while I’m at it.”

“Might as well.” It was quiet for a moment. “Have you ever painted before?”

She shrugged against him, aware that her bare breasts were pressed up against the great Oliver Queen—check that off the bucket list—and he reached across his body to stroke her hair. “I have YouTube, right? And it can’t be any harder than microwaving popcorn.”

His chuckle in reply was bright and sad.


	6. Chapter 6

The late afternoon glare made rush hour traffic a bitch; Oliver squinted into the sun and tried to wish away a small but persistent headache. Guy’s Night had rolled around again, but he’d only been back in Starling an hour after being gone all week and he would’ve preferred to blow it off. Except he had business with Tommy Merlyn.

He hadn’t spoken to Felicity since he’d left the brownstone Sunday morning, but they’d texted at least once every day. He’d really missed her; it was kind of crazy how much, actually. After going years basically only seeing each other in months with five Fridays, those few days strung together had been heaven. Oliver pulled into the parking garage he always used when he went to Razzy’s and decided he’d cut his night with the boys short and go see Felicity before he headed home. He fired off a text to her asking if he could come by and set out for the bar.

He spotted Tommy and waved, but stopped to choose a beer on tap before strolling over in time to catch the tail end of one of Ronnie’s favorite rants.

“Look, I know Sara loves being an ER doc because of the adrenaline rush or whatever, but—“ he flailed his hands, momentarily speechless—“did she not even CONSIDER Gynecology?! I mean, it seems like a no-brainer.” Ronnie shook his head in perpetual disbelief and tipped back his beer. “I don’t know, man.”

Tommy and Oliver shared a look, because they both knew none of them would have an answer to that question until Ronnie worked up the balls to ask Sara himself, but he was too afraid of Nyssa. 

Nobody knew what Nyssa did for a living, even after all these years; any inquiries made to Sara were met with deflection and an enigmatic smile. They actually had a pool going: Oliver had picked international spy; Felicity guessed ninja assassin. 

Tommy let the subject drop there by turning his attention to Oliver. When Ronnie figured out there wasn’t going to be any more discussion on his topic he mumbled something about needing the john and ambled off, already buzzed. Either everybody in this group had started drinking more, or they were all losing their tolerance with old age, Oliver thought. Jesus.

“How was the Big Apple, tiger?”

“Draining,” Oliver sighed, then took a long pull from his glass.

“Anything else new?”

Oliver eyed his best friend, suspicious that he was about to become the victim of a soft interrogation. But then he decided he didn’t really care; it fed into his agenda anyway.

“I spent most of last week turning Felicity’s walls into Swiss cheese,” he answered mildly, the glass already up to his mouth for another sip. Tommy stopped just short of spitting out his drink; the corners of Oliver’s mouth ticked up. 

“Jesus Christ I hope that’s a euphemism,” Tommy gasped, coughing and laughing at the same time. When he looked back up Oliver was staring at him. Waiting. 

“Yes and no,” he said softly when he knew he had Tommy’s full attention. “Felicity and Ray are separated.”

“Fuck,” Tommy muttered, which was an accurate assessment on several levels. He stared into space for a moment before his eyes flicked back to Oliver. “So...you two...”

Oliver’s shoulders lifted in a low-key shrug. “Something like that.”

Tommy watched him very carefully; Ronnie would be back any minute and he wasn’t sure how forthcoming Oliver would be when that happened.

“Are they gonna...?” The English language was not cooperating with Tommy Merlyn at the moment. Oliver shook his head slowly. 

“I don’t know. But I’ve asked Helena for a divorce.”

“Holy shit, Oliver. When did this...what is going on with everybody lately? Jesus.”

“I started talking to a lawyer the week after I...” He tipped his chin up to indicate he meant punching Tommy, and in response Tommy rubbed the spot that was now fully healed. Oliver had put the wheels into motion the morning after his coffee date with Felicity—BECAUSE of the coffee date with Felicity, actually— but he didn’t say that out loud.

“It’s taken a lot of paperwork—“ he paused to grab another sip with a lift of his brows that implied he’d just issued an understatement—“but everything’s finally been filed. I wanted you to know before the press release goes out Monday.”

Tommy stared, completely shell shocked. “Does Felicity know? About the divorce?”

Oliver glanced at the time on his phone—the phone that still hadn’t received a reply from her—just as Ronnie returned to the table. “I was planning to head over after I got done here.”

Tommy’s eyes went wide. “Well Good God man, what are you waiting for?! Go get her, you fool!”

Oliver watched him for another few seconds; to make sure he wasn’t being teased or to work up his courage, it was impossible to tell by his expression. Tommy’s over-the-top act dropped for just a second and the real Thomas Merlyn shone through.

“You’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Oliver’s mouth widened into a slow smile and his eyebrows flicked up; challenge accepted, they seemed to be saying.

“GO GET HER, OLIVER QUEEN,” Tommy shouted, his hands cupped around his mouth as Oliver walked away; most of the heads in the room turned in curiosity. Tommy sensed a captured audience and rolled on. “I HAD YOU BOTH IN THE NURSING HOME BEFORE YOU FINALLY GOT YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS, BUT I DON’T EVEN CARE IF I LOSE THAT POOL, BROTHER!”

Oliver glanced back long enough to flip Tommy the bird; he grinned all the way to his car. 

————————————————————

A few blocks from the brownstone his phone finally chimed. The car dutifully jumped in to read the incoming text in that generic lady voice: ‘Yes’, she said flatly. The reply felt a bit abrupt after five days of nothing but chatty text messages, a couple of them NSFW; he pushed the tiny knot of concern that bloomed in his stomach away and began searching for a parking spot. 

He shifted from foot to foot after ringing the bell, glancing at the rain-heavy sky and remembering a day not long ago when he’d been in this exact same spot, returning her rescued purse. A shiver of anticipation ran through him.

Felicity opened the door and Oliver’s stomach dropped; something was terribly, frighteningly wrong. 

“I’m late,” she whispered, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. 

Oliver opened his mouth to say “For what?” before he realized that wasn’t what she meant. His heart began to thump painfully and he glanced right and left, trying to do the math; they’d only been together once. Less than a week ago. How...

A truck couldn’t have hit him any harder than her truth. He licked his lips, devastated, but made an effort to hide it for her sake. 

“Um, well, I...” He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, attempting to string words together to make this better. To make it make sense. “Does Ray know?” More broken than he’d ever heard his own voice. Dammit.

“No.” She was clutching both the open door and the doorframe, holding herself up, or holding herself back, he couldn’t tell which; maybe she couldn’t either. “But he was already making a quick trip home this weekend. His flight gets in around 9 o’clock tonight.”

“Good. That’s good,” someone using Oliver Queen’s voice said then. He needed to get away from this, but at the same time there was something fitting about the idea of sticking around to confirm that he had managed to lose her twice in one lifetime. A hero’s death, indeed. 

“I don’t...I haven’t actually taken a test yet,” she added in a rush, possibly sensing that he was close to bolting. “I just...I was figuring it in my head today and...I can’t make the math work.”

“Okay,” Oliver said slowly, digesting this morsel. Was she asking him to go buy one? “I will absolutely help you if you want...with that, but Sara might be a better choice, maybe? I mean, she’s an actual doctor...and, she knows things.” This was a terrible, terrible nightmare, and on top of it he now sounded like an idiot.

But Felicity seemed to think his advice was sound, because she nodded; he watched in morbid fascination as she began to gather herself together emotionally.

“I’ll call her,” she agreed softly, focusing at the middle of his chest. 

“Do you want me to stay, until she—“

“No, I’m fine. I’m okay. It’ll be okay.”

That last part was for herself, Oliver thought. Because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be okay for him. 

—————————————————-

He started the car and drove down the street like an automaton; it began to sprinkle a couple of blocks later, tiny drops falling at an angle that made them splatter streaks behind themselves on the windshield. Oliver let them build and build until it was nearly impossible to see to drive before he finally wiped them away. 

Where to go? The penthouse, post-divorce confrontation with Helena, was off-limits because she was getting it in her share. Ten years there and he’d never felt at home; losing it to her was nothing. The mansion was always open to him, of course, safe and insulated in the pre-nup like 90% of the Queen fortune. But it was also his mother’s home, and a place for his jet-setting sister to go when she needed to decompress; the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight was an interrogation—no matter how well-meant—from them. 

In the end he just drove, endless turns and exits and stoplights as the sun set amid a scattering of rain. It gave him time to re-open the wounds twenty-two years of distance couldn’t seem to heal.

August, 1996

“I am telling you, Oliver, I’ve...I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s insatiable!” Tommy Merlyn pulled the neck of his t-shirt down to reveal an angry red hickey between his collarbone and his shoulder.

“That’s...a whole lot of suck,” Oliver observed dryly. Tommy sensed his best friend was less than impressed. 

“You should see the other one.” He went for his button fly just as Felicity Smoak turned the corner into their room. She squealed and brought the textbooks in her hands up to cover her face.

She yelled “Tommy!” at the same time Oliver barked at him to knock it off; a lady was in the room.

“Oh, hey Smoaky. How’s it hangin’?” 

She blinked at Tommy a couple times, as usual at a loss for words where he was concerned. 

“Hey. Tommy. Get lost,” Oliver ordered good naturedly. “Go hang out with your vampire girlfriend,” he yelled at his disappearing back with a grin at Felicity. She giggled and then wrinkled her nose.

“I still can’t wrap my head around Laurel going out with him. It’s just so WEIRD.”

Oliver shook his head, clearly not getting it either. “She must see something we don’t, eh?” He patted the spot next to him on the futon and scooted over just a bit to give Felicity more room. 

She was wearing denim overalls with a tight white tee underneath; maybe it was one of those kinds that snap together at the bottom—don’t go there Queen, he growled to himself. Not with her. Felicity’s ponytail flipped over her shoulder as she sat with one leg tucked up under her, kind of sideways so she could face him; she balanced the books on her lap. 

“So,” she began without preamble. “First week of classes down. How do you think it’s going so far?”

Oliver leaned back and let his hands lay on his thighs. Relaxed. Happy. “Good. I mean, Gugin’s class is going to be a bear, but I knew that going in. And it’s cool we have Econ together.”

Felicity shook her head quickly...shy? Embarrassed? Whatever it was made her hair dance across her shoulders. Trying to figure her out had become Oliver Queen’s favorite hobby. 

One of her hands reached out to brush along his arm, leaving a tingle behind. “I’m sorry we didn’t think of me tutoring you sooner. It might’ve saved you an extra year of school.”

Oliver watched her eyes behind her John Lennon frames—she was so proud of them, a recent birthday present from her mother—he couldn’t imagine graduating ahead of the rest of the gang and missing one last year to hang out with them. 

With her. 

He shifted around on the futon, suddenly nervous, or bashful, or...something. Emotions he’d certainly never felt around a girl before.

Felicity opened the book on top and swiveled it around so they could both look at it; he hummed along politely as she started talking, reviewing the last thing they’d covered in class. The wide open door always tempted his fraternity brothers to stop in passing—or cat-call—but Oliver would never let her close it. She would sigh, no doubt annoyed with him for allowing the distraction, but truthfully—and secretly—he did it to preserve her reputation. 

Usually he tried very hard to concentrate, but today...there was just something about her that he couldn’t stop thinking about. Oliver gazed at the top of her bent head as she talked and remembered the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her.

It was Bid Night, 1993; the biggest party night on campus. The new pledge class had been welcomed into the fold and some serious celebrating was in order. Oliver—and Tommy—were Sophomores, already old hands at the lifestyle of the house, though Oliver might have taken to it a bit too enthusiastically, if his grades were any indicator. He was leaning against the doorway to his room nursing a red Solo cup of cheap beer and talking to some girl when he spotted her. 

She’d trailed in behind Ronnie Raymond, a Pledge, and his red-headed girlfriend...Cathy? Something like that. This girl was tiny, terrified, way too young to be hanging out in a frat house. Somebody’s kid sister? She was dressed very conservatively, kind of dowdy even; on the street he would never even have noticed her, but in a house full of thumping music and drunk college kids she stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Ronnie walked up to say hi, obviously still a bit star struck about his sudden promotion in the Greek organization but fairly comfortable talking to Oliver, who at least wasn’t an upper classman. He reintroduced his girlfriend—Caitlin, that was it—and mumbled something about her friend, but Oliver didn’t catch it.

“I’m sorry, what was your name?” He leaned forward and asked her directly, intrigued. She looked up at him with wide blue eyes through glasses she must’ve owned since she was twelve years old—her initials, FMS, were monogrammed in the corner of one lens—and her mouth parted but no sound came out. Oliver’s eyes darted to her lips and back up and he smiled reassuringly. 

“Felicity,” she said. It sounded like a whisper, although she’d actually had to shout it over the noise of the party. Her voice just wasn’t pitched to carry well over this racket.

“Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.” He stuck out a hand but she only stared at it, and he knew with a sinking feeling in his stomach that she thought he was going to trick her somehow, or make fun of her. The feeling turned into a burn of rage that someone must’ve treated her badly before. Had it already happened tonight? Here? 

She finally reached out and slipped her small hand into his for a shake and then returned it to the strap of the purse she wore across her body. Oliver tipped his chin to it.

“Make sure you keep that on you tonight; if you set it down, it’ll be gone.” He added a smile at the end because she suddenly looked terrified again, and now he felt terrible. Ronnie’s girlfriend consulted with her quietly, their heads close, and Ronnie took the opportunity to lean closer to Oliver.

“She’s Caitlin’s roommate. This is her first frat party. Probably ever. She’s only sixteen.”

“Wow, a whiz kid, eh?” Tommy had just popped up behind Oliver’s shoulder, having been busy entertaining a couple of females in their room. Innocent stuff; Tommy was still pretty inexperienced sexually. 

“Knock it off, Tommy,” Oliver growled then, because Felicity’s eyes had darted up to this new voice, and she didn’t look that keen on getting a nickname already. Why are people so mean, Oliver wondered to himself with a sigh. Something made him step forward again and lean in so only she could hear him.

“Hey, Felicity,” he said as softly as he could and still be heard. “This is my room. 22. It’s a safe place, okay? If you ever feel uncomfortable with something that happens while you’re in the house, you come here. Yes?”

She blinked at him a couple of times, calculating. But then her shoulders settled and she nodded, a bit more relaxed and sure of herself. He nodded too, relieved that she was more comfortable.

“You can trust me, Felicity,” he added, now that he was sure she actually did. 

“Oliver, I lost you. Where did you go?”

Nineteen year old Felicity snapped her fingers, jerking him back to Econ and reviewing. He shook his head quickly to clear the cobweb of memories. 

“Right. Sorry. I...I had this crazy memory of the night we met. I—never mind. Go on.”

Felicity paused for a second to study him, her expression soft. “You were so nice to me that night. I was terrified, but you were the first guy—the only guy there to see me as...a person.”

She extracted a hand from beneath the textbook, then brought it up and stroked his jaw with her thumb. Oliver tipped his head to lean into her palm and tried not to purr. She’d given him countless shoulder rubs over the years, but she’d never touched him like this, and now that she’d started he never wanted it to end. 

Felicity’s hand dropped back to the book and she went on as if nothing had happened. She had no idea she’d just rearranged his entire universe. Oliver stared at the page she was pointing to in a daze for the rest of the hour.

He didn’t come back to reality until she closed the second book and arranged both so she could stand. This was it, he thought. He had to tell her how he felt. 

“Uh, Felicity,” he began, catching her attention as he surged to his feet to stand over her, so short in her little white Keds. “I—“ Tommy’s overly-loud voice drifted down the hall, coming this way. Shit. 

“Do you...do you have some time later tonight? I have a question to ask you. In case I have a question, I mean.” He chickened out at the last minute with Merlyn’s voice getting louder every second. The space between Felicity’s eyebrows crinkled adorably as she tried to figure him out. 

“Um, yeah. Sure. I have to go to the Physics lab right now—“ she gestured over her shoulder without looking away—“but I could come by after that. The lab closes at eight.”

Oliver licked his lips and frowned, suddenly concerned. “Do you have someone to walk you home? I can—“

She interrupted him with a hand against his chest and a wry smile. “I’ve got it covered, Oliver. Sara’s meeting with her study group just down the hall. We’re going to walk back together.”

Oliver nodded as Tommy’s head appeared around the doorframe. 

“We’re gonna be late for hockey, tiger.” 

Oliver waved a hand at him in acknowledgment but couldn’t stop looking at Felicity.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” she promised, turning to go, her ponytail flicking behind her as she looked back one last time to flash him a smile.

“Earth to Oliver Queen,” Tommy intoned in a deep voice when Oliver didn’t move. His eyes flicked to Tommy and then down, suddenly bashful. 

“Hey,” Merlyn said quietly. “You gonna do something about that?” He tipped his head toward the empty doorway, all kidding gone from his voice.

“I think I am,” Oliver replied, checking Tommy’s face for clues about his opinion on the matter.

“About damn time,” he said with a slow smile. “But first, hockey.”

It was the worst practice for Oliver ever; his head was in the Physics lab instead of on the ice. He skimped on the cool down as much as possible without getting yelled at and was the first one into the shower. When his gear was packed up he checked his watch: 7:45. The labs were kind of a haul from the rink, but he could make it if he hurried. 

Oliver pictured spilling his guts to Felicity at the house with a bunch of guys around to interrupt and make insults and shuddered. If he could get to the lab in time he could walk her and Sara home and then ask to talk to Felicity in private. Maybe on a walk around campus. Oliver hefted his gear onto his shoulder, grabbed his sticks, and headed out. 

He composed his speech as he jogged across campus, the heavy duffle bouncing against his back and dragging on his shoulder. He would tell her he thought she was beautiful, and brilliant, and hilarious. Then he would ask her to dinner; Italian, maybe. She sure loved the breadsticks at Pirelli’s. 

There were two Physics labs, but they were in the same hallway. Oliver checked the first and spotted Sara and her study group as he passed by the open doorway. He flipped her a wave that she returned, but a funny look crossed her face after. He didn’t take any time to dwell on it because he now knew exactly where Felicity would be. 

Oliver was grabbing the handle before he even caught sight of her through the window in the door: She was facing him but looking elsewhere as she sat on a lab counter gently swinging her heels against the side. She was still in the overalls, but she’d added a flannel shirt over top. She was laughing; she looked really happy. The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile.

And then Ray Palmer stepped into view and Oliver’s stomach twisted. He really only knew Ray by reputation; they said he was published in scientific journals by the time he was 15. Felicity dropped her gaze to her lap, shy, but she was smiling a lot at whatever Ray was saying. He took another step toward her and leaned in, and the next thing Oliver knew he was watching someone else kiss Felicity Smoak. 

It broke his heart to see it—at least he thought this must be what a broken heart felt like; it was excruciating. Oliver let go of the handle and stepped away from the door, unable to watch more and worried about getting caught. 

The next second his hockey sticks were bouncing and skittering down the empty hallway; he didn’t even realize he’d launched them. Oliver strode after them in a haze of pain and disappointment, past the first lab door and on down until he’d caught up with his projectiles. Sara stepped out into the hallway after he’d passed and called his name softly as he bent down to retrieve one and then the other. 

Oliver kept walking as if he hadn’t heard.

He considered staying outside just walking around, to make sure he wasn’t there when—if—Felicity showed up at the house, but that seemed childish. Besides, the gear was fucking heavy. His feet carried him back to fraternity row, then his house, then room 22. 

She showed up as deep down he knew she would; Felicity was good about keeping her word. Oliver was busy unpacking his gear bag and hanging up stuff to air out; he pretended to be too engrossed to hear her come in.

“Oliver? Hey,” she said as she swung around the doorframe. Happy. Newly-kissed. A fresh wave of pain broke over his heart as he thought of it. 

“Oh, hi,” he replied, schooling his voice, controlling his actions to make them seem light and unconcerned. Step right up and watch Oliver Queen hang out his dirty laundry without a care in the world.

He felt her enter the room and hover nearby, waiting for him to turn around and talk to her, to be the Oliver she’d always known. His eyes closed for a second to gather himself before he turned.

“What’s up?” he asked, polite but distant, steeling himself to look her in the eye even though it felt like torture. 

A small frown of confusion crossed her face.

“You okay?” she asked, taking the last step left between them and reaching out to touch his arm. He turned aside as casually as possible and grabbed his shin guards out of the bag. Please don’t touch me, he begged her inside his head. It would be too much. 

“Did you...have a question? Earlier it...it sounded like you did.”

“Oh,” he said, bright and airy. Now you sound like an idiot, he chided himself. “Ah, no. Nope. I think I’m good to go.” Oliver concentrated on hanging the pads up along the railing of his loft bed; this was proving to be the best job he’d ever done maintaining his equipment after a practice. 

He saw her nod slowly in his peripheral vision. “Okay.” The tone in her voice sounded like disappointment. Because of him, or because she’d cut her make out session with Palmer short to waste her time coming here? Curiously, turning heartbreak into anger was as simple as flipping a switch; who knew.

“I’ll see you Wednesday?” she asked, referencing their next study session. Confused. Hopeful. 

“Sounds good. You need someone to walk you home?” He vowed to hunt Tommy down and make him do it if she said yes. He just couldn’t.

“No. Sara came with.” He nodded to that, this new, formal-and-polite-around-Felicity-Smoak version of Oliver Queen. 

She slipped out of the room the way she’d slipped into his heart; silently. Oliver hadn’t felt like crying since the death of his father. He blew a hard breath out through his mouth and kept working. 

—————————————————

It was going on 9 o’clock before Sara and Nyssa rang the doorbell of the brownstone. 

“Just got off work,” Sara explained to a woman still white and shaking from her confrontation with Oliver and...everything. She handed Felicity a small brown paper bag as she passed by her.

“Oh,” Felicity said, a tiny squeak. Sara turned and watched her closely. 

“And thanks for asking two lesbians to pick up a home pregnancy test. We were a big hit at CVS.” 

Felicity only said “oh” again, shell shocked. 

Sara sighed heavily, joke having fallen flat. “Okay, this is worse than I thought. Felicity, we need to talk.”

——————————————————————-

The rain had settled in for the night. Oliver was still driving. So this was it; at the end of his life he would look back and see all the years he spent pining for a woman he didn’t get because he was always a step slow. A minute too late. The clock on his dash read 9:12. Fuck it. 

Oliver made a U-Turn at the next light. 

—————————————————

“When’s the last time you had a period?” Sara asked her quietly but calmly, in doctor mode. Felicity, perched on the side of her bed, shook her head rapidly.

“I...I don’t know. I can’t think straight. I...my prescription for the pill ran out a couple months ago, but we weren’t...nothing was happening in that department anyway so I kept putting off making an appointment, because of course you can’t just call in to get it refilled you have to be seen, and work’s been crazy—“

“Felicity. You’re spiraling.”

“I know,” she whispered. 

Sara’s voice was very gentle. “Something must’ve happened between you and Ray recently, otherwise you wouldn’t have a reason to freak out.”

A small nod from Felicity. “The...the night that Ol—that Oliver punched Tommy, Ray and I...I was so upset over everything I didn’t think of using other protection. And he didn’t even know I’m not on the pill anymore.” 

Sara rubbed her knee gently. “What about with Oliver?” Very very quietly.

Felicity jumped like a gun had gone off. “Wha-what?”

“Felicity.” Sara waited until she was looking at her. “You wouldn’t be this upset if you thought you were finally having a baby with your husband. Unless you thought it might be someone else’s...or...you hoped it was someone else’s.”

A long moment of silence hung between them; Felicity finally dropped her chin to look at her hands. 

“It was only once. Recently. We were careful.”

Sara nodded slowly. “Okay.” She held up the paper bag. “Guess we better get this over with. You know how to do it?”

Felicity sniffed once but nodded, taking the bag and trudging to the bathroom. Sara sighed wearily and dropped her face into her hands to wait. 

She was back in a little over a minute, empty handed.

“I left it in there. I can’t...I can’t stare at it, waiting.”

Sara patted the bed next to her and Felicity sat. Nyssa, never a conversationalist on a good day, had elected to stay downstairs. 

“Tell me about you and Oliver,” she coaxed. 

Felicity shrugged, feeling tears threatening already. “It shouldn’t have happened. It won’t happen again. He’s married. I’m married. We were reckless, and stupid.”

“He’s in a terrible marriage, and you’re in a loveless one. It’s okay to talk about making changes in your life to be happy.”

The tears slipped down her cheeks. “I haven’t stopped loving Ray, but—no. There’s no ‘but’. He’s my husband. I made a vow. I know everything about him. I know what salad dressing he likes based on what ingredients are in the salad—“

“Unlike Oliver, who likes vinaigrette on everything,” Sara interrupted. 

Felicity shook her head quickly. “No, Oliver only likes Blue Cheese. If he can’t have that he just eats it without any dressing...” When Felicity’s eyes had finished tracking up from the floor in surprise Sara was grinning softly at her. 

“You think it might be possible you’ve loved two men all these years?” Sara asked quietly. Felicity’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Downstairs the doorbell rang. 

“How...AM I? Oh god, I’m in love with Oliver Queen. How long have I been in love with Oliver Queen?” She grabbed Sara and shook her. “Why didn’t anybody ever tell me?!” Sara laughed; it sounded like sunshine.

A set of footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs before Nyssa appeared in the bedroom doorway. 

“Oliver is here to see you,” she said in her quiet, no-nonsense way. Sara stood from the bed and slipped away while Felicity wiped furiously under her eyes with the backs of her hands. 

“Ohgodohgod,” she whispered under her breath. Sara met her at the bedroom door. Her face was serious.

“I don’t know what he’s here to say, or what you’re going to decide to do, but either way you should see this.” She held the pregnancy test out toward her.

Felicity stared at the results window for two whole breaths before she started down the stairs.

——————————————————

He had declined Nyssa’s silent invitation to come inside. This old crumbling brownstone had become precious to him; if the next five minutes closed the door on his happiness forever he didn’t want to be standing inside it, remembering the evenings with her on the couch, or her bedroom, or—oh god—that damned kitchen wall when it happened. Oliver Queen opted to wait in the rain.

Felicity opened the door more collected than she’d been three hours before, but she still didn’t look herself. Oliver cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

“Felicity.” He stopped there and sighed. God he loved her name. “I have been happier these past couple of weeks than I have been my entire life. Dead rat in your wall included.”

“Rat?” she whispered, her eyes wide. Oliver huffed a surprised laugh, close to tears. She was so perfect for him. 

“It was huge. But that’s...not important. I came to tell you that even if you decide not to do anything about it, I have divorced Helena. I couldn’t live one more day miserable. I’m done.” He couldn’t tell from her expression what was going on in her head so he rolled on. “I don’t think this baby could possibly be mine, but I don’t care. I will help raise it, as Ray’s kid, as my own, doesn’t matter. You will be an incredible mother, and I don’t want to miss a second of it. Because I love you.”

“Oliver.” 

“Felicity. I have loved you from a distance for half my life. I would like to spend the next half as close to you as I can get. If that’s what you want.”

She stood there so long he thought for sure it was going to be a pass. 

“You really need a front porch,” he said then, soaking wet.

“The test was negative,” she whispered as she flung herself out into the rain.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s possible I was a cinematographer in a past life; I always seem to have music in my head for the ‘end credits’ to my fics. Listen to “No Sleep” by Magic! followed by Sarah McLachlan’s “Ordinary Miracle” for this one. 
> 
> Thanks for taking this ride with me.

FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER

“Felicity! What are you doing?!”

“We’re late. I’m attempting to make us less late.”

“You can’t just walk out into traffic—Hey! WATCH IT, ASSHOLE!!”

“Nobody’s going to hit me, Oliver. I promise.”

“Felicity...I swear to God I can still pick you up...”

They made the sidewalk in front of Razzy’s in one piece, at the expense of Oliver’s sanity.

“You age me, woman,” he said wearily, holding the door for her to waddle through.

“Am I waddling yet?” she asked over her shoulder.

“No,” he lied. 

“SURPRISE!!” 

Felicity stopped dead and Oliver almost toppled over her. 

“Our former friends threw us a Baby Shower in a bar,” she observed dryly.

Oliver ran a hand over his mouth. “It would appear so.”

Anything else they might’ve said to each other was drowned out by everyone descending upon them, pulling them toward a table in the Fishbowl covered in gifts and a giant cake in the shape of a cartoon giraffe. A chair was pulled out for the guest of honor to haul herself up into; somebody handed Oliver a beer. 

“Ray sends his love,” Caitlin chirped. “And a jog stroller.” She pointed to the monstrosity in the corner.

“Helena didn’t send anything,” Sara added cheekily as she leaned out around Nyssa. 

“For the record,” Laurel began in her lawyer voice, “I think keeping the gender of this baby to yourselves is cruel and unusual. After everything we’ve done for you.”

Felicity rubbed her belly and smiled enigmatically. “Six more weeks, and then you’ll know forever. You can wait that long.”  
She reached for the first package and began ripping enthusiastically at the paper. 

“So how’s the old brownstone coming?” Ronnie asked Oliver as he stood and watched the carnage. 

“Two weeks until it’s habitable, they tell me.”

“That’s what they said three weeks ago,” Felicity snarked over her shoulder as she lifted an 8-piece set of onesies out of the box to a chorus of oohs and ahs. 

“I’m kinda surprised you didn’t want to do the work yourself,” Ronnie joked. By now the Rat-in-the-Wall story was famous.

Oliver shrugged good-naturedly. “It turns out I’m better at throwing money at home improvement projects.” Felicity turned her head and grinned at him.

Gift wrap and ribbon flew for half an hour before everything was opened; Caitlin had to ask at the bar for a knife big enough to cut the cake because they’d all forgotten. 

They laughed when Felicity demonstrated how she could balance her plate on her belly. Laurel kicked off the inevitable labor horror stories; Oliver stepped in to give Felicity a shoulder rub to distract her when things got graphic. 

Even after the gifts were packed away and the debris removed they hung around. Laurel and Caitlin filled Felicity in on the couples-only cruise they’d just taken together with their husbands; Laurel looked rosy, Caitlin content. 

“So things are back to normal?” Felicity asked with a knowing lift of her eyebrows as she sipped her Sprite.

Caitlin smiled softly and shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s better. That’s all I wanted.”

Sara, leaning forward in order to hear, grabbed at Caitlin’s arm dramatically. “Tell me there was no swapping on that cruise.”

“No swapping,” Laurel confirmed adamantly with a grin. Tommy waggled his eyebrows at her from across the table and she giggled. 

The bar filled as the night went on. A stranger walked past with gift wrap ribbon wound around his head. Oliver took advantage of a lull to step behind Felicity and bend forward enough to rest his forehead on her shoulder. She reached up and scratched the back of his head soothingly. 

“You ready to go, baby?” she murmured; he nodded against her with a moan of pleasure. 

Across the table Tommy Merlyn had a moment of sentimental weakness, but still managed to pull himself together enough to raise his beer in a toast. “Get your sleep now, Ollie my boy! Your life is about to change forever.” 

Everyone laughed and hooted; the party rolled on. Nobody noticed Oliver turn his head to leave a soft kiss against his wife’s neck.

“It already has,” he whispered in her ear.


End file.
